The Peter Pan Book
by Nimbus 1944
Summary: Sands in an hourglass, stars in the night; Straight on til morning, second to the right.
1. The Night of the NotABat

Chap. 28 quote from _Lines Written in Kensington Gardens_ by Matthew Arnold.  
_Sands In An Hourglass, Melicent's Song, Everybody's Dreams _and other original material are property of the fanfic author. Imbedded material of Barrie et al. falls under the usual disclaimer.

-o-

_Time can last forever if your childhood does as well;  
And if the child lives in you, shhh! for you should never tell,  
But read this under covers in a warm bed late at night,  
When no one hears you snicker-snick or sees your torch's light.  
They'll never know you read it, lest they happen to espy  
A persistant telling curious little twinkle in your eye.  
And so I take my quill in hand to scribble out with care  
A fantasy for I-know-who, whose twinkle's always there.  
__Sands in an hourglass, stars in the night;  
Straight on til morning, second to the right._

**  
1. The Night of The Not-A-Bat.**

One hundred years of nights and days passed, in which Wendy Darling begat Jane, and Jane begat Margaret, and Margaret begat Belle, and Belle begat Andrea -- a sturdy, beautiful woman. And Andrea begat Melicent and Michael, the joys of her life.

Andrea's years were but twenty-seven, and she died...

-o-

Melicent Darling, only nine, thought herself entirely too young to have no mother. But life comes and goes.

On the cold, dreary afternoon of Sunday, 29 December 2002, with azaleas in hand, she walked with her father through the family's old burying-ground in the woods near Dappling, to visit the spot where her mother now stayed.

Some of the stones were eroded from age, and hard to read. A few of the names, though, were familiar to Melicent from previous visits, and because Mum had told her about them -- the girls of the family, her ancestors.

She knew as soon as they walked past the tall column ("Moira Devon Darling, 1857-1901") she would see the stones she knew, lined up, one after another --

MOTHER  
**Wendy Darling Fynnis**  
devoted wife of David  
born 23d of Jan. 1878  
died 25th of Dec. 1944  
aged 66 yr. 11 mo. 2 da.

Wendy Darling was Melicent's "long-ago grandmother." Mum used to call her that to make it simple. She said Wendy was the first of the girls to fly.

**Jane Fynnis Barry  
**beloved wife of John  
1903-1990.

Jane was Wendy's little girl. She too had gone to Neverland to sweep and chat -- as did her daughter Margaret, who was also here:

**Margaret Barry Dowell  
**1923-2001  
Widow of Lt. A.S. Dowell,  
RAF, 1921-1943, lost at sea.  
Beloved mother of Peter and Belle.

The little girl named Belle mentioned on that stone was Melicent's actual grandmother. Melicent couldn't remember meeting her, but had seen many photos, and thought she was pretty. She was there too, next in line --

**Belle Dowell Baine**  
loving wife of Roland  
1943-1995

And just beyond, her mother's new headstone had finally been erected. She carefully read the sharply cut inscription on the shiny stone --

**Andrea Baine Darling**  
1975-2002  
Beloved wife of Alan  
and  
mother of Melicent and Michael.

The grass seed on Mum's grave hadn't taken hold. There hadn't been hardly enough rain this year; perhaps, next Spring. Melicent picked up the dried remnants of flowers from their last visit, and left the fresh azaleas on the frozen ground.

Melicent missed seeing her mother's smile, and hearing her songs, and combing each other's long brown hair. Mum would trust her to play alone with Michael at times, even when he was a baby, though she was always close by to help if anything happened. Like a good mother, she taught Melicent how to tuck her bed sheets, and which side of the plate to put the forks on, and a million other things that girls and boys had to learn. Melicent knew her letters and numbers before her first day of school, because Mum had taught her that, and so much more.

When little Melicent was in a pouty mood, her mother only had to take her in her lap, and hug her, and swing from side to side gently, while singing to the Twinkle-twinkle song, but with more words--

_Be good and be cheerful, laughing on your way,  
Nothing could be happier than having fun today.  
Other girls and boys can cry about most anything,  
But Darling girls and Darling boys should fly about and sing.  
Sands in an hourglass, stars in the night;  
Straight on til morning, second to the right._

Mum had told her that Wendy Darling had sung that song to soothe her youngest brother, Michael, when he fretted. Melicent said she thought she might learn it, and sing it to her Michael when he felt bad. So Mum helped her to memorise it. At that time, Melicent hadn't heard what it meant, about being able to fly about, and "second to the right" and all, but concluded it was a just silly song, and silly songs could say anything.

And then, on Melicent's 6th birthday, Mum had explained it to her ... everything! Flying, and pirates, and fairies, and never-birds, and Peter Pan.

Melicent wondered if this Peter Pan fellow would recall the burying-ground. He had been brought here on his last visit -- so the story went -- when Mum tried to explain to him that Gram had died. She often needed to refresh his memory. Mum had pointed to his old friends' names on the stones, and read them aloud -- "Wendy... Jane... Margaret..." Although Peter could not read, he ran his fingers over the names.

"And here," Andrea had noted, "it mentions Peter and Belle."

"It mentions me?" he had asked.

"No; it's my uncle Peter. You must have met him when he was little..? Well, perhaps not. My grandparents named my Uncle Peter for you, and Mother was named Belle for Tinker Bell. Do you remember little Tink?" He'd found the name vaguely familiar. Children only remember what they choose to. Long ago, Peter had chosen to live in the present and think of today's things.

_I wonder_, thought Melicent, _if his Spring cleanings remove dusty memories as well._ Sometimes she wished she could dust her own mind. _It must be like our loft, full of old trunks and papers and clothing by now._ Even at her age, a mind could get so muddled, remembering to bring coins to church, and to knot socks together for the laundry, and how to count in nines, and the names of the planets, and whether Norway or Sweden was the one on the left, and if the shaker with the big holes had the salt or the pepper, and...

And remembering the morning Mum couldn't wake up...

Melicent had been too small when Peter last came, and Michael was just a newborn then; they never saw Peter Pan.

Mum had been 20 that year, and had to tell Peter that she was already a real mother, twice over, and much too old to fly to Neverland now. But she took that one last trip with him anyway -- here, to the burying-ground. Peter finally understood, and he never came to call on her again.

This Peter Pan fellow had never come to visit Melicent, and teach her to fly -- that is, if there really was a Peter Pan! Perhaps he was only a family legend, after all.

There was so much to the legend that her long-ago-grandmother Wendy had written it all in a nicely bound book, and left an equal number of blank pages where the later generations of Darling girls could write of their new adventures for many years to come. Most of it was still blank, waiting for more.

Mum had read it to her last year. Perhaps, when she was grown up and had children, Melicent would have to invent a story about her own trips to the Neverland, as perhaps her mother had, and her grandmother, and so on... five generations of fibbers, and she'd be the sixth.

Would she go to this Neverland place just to sweep for a stranger, and chat with him? Melicent thought not, even if Mum and Gram had befriended him that way.

-o-

On the way home from Dappling, Mr. Darling and Melicent picked up Michael at the sitter's house, and they all went to eat in a nice cosy restaurant where the napkins were paper and it was alright to put your elbows on the table. Michael was well along in school now, and he no longer had to sit on the _Household Book of Irish Eloquence_ to reach the kitchen tabletop, which made him feel very tall indeed.

Melicent stole just two chips from Michael's plate this night, which for her was being particularly nice to him. _Maybe, when I die,_ she thought, _Michael will tell them to put "Beloved big sister" on my stone._ Michael didn't really notice her kindness -- nor did she take notice when he stole three of her chips.

After dinner, they returned to their house in the city. It was rather late, and after their baths the sleepy children were sent off to bed.

As to territorial needs on the third floor of number 14, the comfy little sewing room satisfied the needs of Michael, aged seven. Melicent tucked him into his bed and tended his lamps; then they said their g'nights. She pitched their day's laundry down the chute and proceeded to the big nursery room, which she had all to herself -- the one with the green walls, high ceilings and huge windows, where the family children had always slept. As many as six children and a nanny-dog had encamped in here once, long ago, fitting fairly comfortably, yet now there was just one mere nine-year-old!

Lying in bed in the dark, she often imagined this huge cavern of a room was her secret underground cave. Half-asleep, Melicent could imagine the old columns by the doorways to be stalactites, and the dim ticking of the downstairs hall clock was the slow drip of water from an underground stream. Perhaps she would see bats in the cave, if she squinted just right, and tried hard enough.

Wait! What was that shadow in the middle of the floor? There shouldn't be anything there -- yet it looked to her like a baby bat, resting himself with his wings up in the air.

She crawled out of bed and across the carpet, being ever so clever and stealthy to sneak up on her perhaps-a-bat. Would it fly off when she reached for it? Would she become a vampire if it bit her? Would she scare it off if she kept yawning so loudly?

She put out her hand --

It wasn't, of course, a bat, and it didn't move. In her fuzzy-headedness, she couldn't make out what it was, and carried it to the hall door, opening it to let in a gentle light and look at her not-a-bat.

Strange. It was two large tree leaves, stuck to each other at the edges.

Her father would be a bit cross if she had tracked leaves into the house! Wiping her shoes was another thing to mind, one of those thousand million things to mind during the day. But it was night now, and she couldn't stop yawning, and she just wanted to crawl to back to bed and sleep.

So she did, nodding off as the cave water dripped, dripped, dripped.


	2. Squiggly Lines and Tapping Toes

**2. Squiggly Lines and Tapping Toes.**

The question bothered Melicent on Monday morning. Where had she seen leaves like this before -- in a book, perhaps?

Without explaining her reason, she asked Father to let her look in his library, please. There, he had a very nice volume on trees, with colour pictures of bark and nuts and leaves for each kind. Alas, there was no leaf exactly like her find, or as large.

She thanked him, but said she had found nothing.

"What are you looking for, exactly?" he asked.

"Oh... leaves. I seem to remember seeing a leaf, and think it was in a book -- a really big round leaf, with lots of very small lines on it."

"They all have lines on them. I think they're called veins."

"Not lines like these. On my leaves, the lines go wherever they please. Some bend down like a weeping willow, and some make curlicues, and some go just so far and change their minds and go no farther, and some go zigzag, zigzag. None of the leaves in your book do that."

"Oh, those leaves sound imaginary, Milly. Maybe it was just a sketch, in one of your upstairs books."

That made Melicent think. "Yes, that could be. There are some drawings of trees and leaves in the Peter Pan book."

"What's Peterpan?"

She looked up at him, surprised. "You don't know?"

"I'm afraid not. Your mother was always the one to read you your bedtime stories -- until you could read your own. What's it about?"

"Oh... nothing. Just a fairy tale. Mum read it to me, but I never read it myself. It's a silly story about a far-away land." Then, she teased him. "If I ever fly off into nowhere, just look in the Peter Pan book and it will tell you where I've gone."

"Well, maybe you want to read it. Then, the next time you summarise a book for me, maybe you'll tell me that story."

"It was such a long story, Dad, and it seems so childish now... oh, okay. Some day I'll tell you about it."

Melicent went upstairs, and rummaged in her very messy wardrobe for the Peter Pan book. It was easy to spot, being big, bound with wooden covers, and laced together with leather.

Once she had it in hand, and dusted it off, the answer was not hard to find. In fact, as soon as she opened it to the first page, the answer dropped in her lap.

Pressed between the pages were real leaves, just like hers, whose lines made all sorts of squiggles. With it was a loose note:

_Unusual leaves found in the nursery  
at No. 14 by Mrs. Moira Darling.  
This memorial done by Miss Wendy M. Darling  
on Saturday, the 10th of November, 1888._

Now she remembered that part! Wendy Darling's mum had found these leaves over a hundred years ago, in this room. Glued-together leaves, that had fallen from -- Peter Pan's clothing!

_That means somebody was here last night -- in this very room..._

_It's all real?_

_It's all real?_

_Why, of course! We weren't home when he came. He must think us awful, not being hospitable and offering him a cup of tea or something. I was out enjoying my fish and chips, while he was waiting! Maybe he was tapping his toe impatiently, and stamping around, and the leaves fell off. I'll have to say I'm sorry when I see him._

_Then again, he should have left me a note. How do I know if he's ever going to come again? Very impertinent to come calling and not say._

_Perhaps if I read the stories, it might tell me something._

So, for the first time in her life, Melicent set about to read, on her own, the only copy of the only book in the whole world about the mysterious Peter Pan.


	3. The Oracle and The Witch

**3. The Oracle and The Witch.**

This time, Melicent did not think of it as a fairy tale. She told herself that everything she was about to read was true, as written by (and about) her own family.

With that in mind, she hungrily tucked into it. Monday the 30th was cold and rainy, so she had all day for it. Except for her meals, she didn't stop until she had read every word. That was a lot for a nine-year-old.

And what did she think when she finally closed the book?

"Wow!" she said, wide-eyed, staring off into space.

Now, she had some minor matters to ponder. Should she tell her father about it?

Would Peter come back?

And if he asked her, would she fly away with him, and would it be safe to take Michael, too?

There was so much to think about, and it was almost dinner time. She put the book away -- but not before turning to the first blank page in the back, and putting her new leaves in to press, and writing

_Leaves found by Miss Melicent Darling, age 9,  
in the children's bedroom at Number 14  
on the night of Sunday, 29 December, 2002._

Then, realising that something important was missing from this history of the girls of the family, she thought to add:

_I couldn't ask Mum about the leaves, as she died 10 July, and I miss her so  
very much. She would explain everything to me right off if she were here,  
and she would know exactly what to do. Father is very smart and has lots  
of books. He would know, too, but Mum never told him about Peter's visits._

That evening, Melicent waited nervously, not knowing what to say or do. She hadn't told her father.

But there was another someone she could consult. He wasn't exactly the Oracle of Delphi, imparting the wisdom of the gods from a mountain, but he could advise her on this.

She walked down the hall to the tiny room, crowded with toys and books, and decorated with drawings.

There was hardly room for the both of them. He was sitting on the floor, as mobs of toy soldiers and space aliens clashed in battle atop his bed. Like a good little fussbudgety assistant mother, she started picking up clothes and books and things from the floor.

"Michael, this is the messiest room in the whole city."

"I know! Isn't it great?"

"But that means you're the messiest boy in the city."

"I should get a trophy, then."

"You would only leave it on the floor, like everything else. You're also being very sassy. Must be bedtime."

"Did you actually want something, Mel, or are you just being big-sister?" he asked.

"Nothing much. Did Mum ever tell you anything about somebody named Peter Pan?"

"Um hum."

"So she did!"

"Um hum. And she said not to tell you."

"She did not!"

"Okay, I made that part up. Yeah, she told me some kid will come flying in the window one day and take you away. If I'm lucky."

"And what about you?"

"I asked Mum if I could have your Playstation when you leave, and she said yes."

"She did not!"

"Did so. And your bedroom too."

"Not!"

"Okay, she didn't. Why? Is your boyfriend Peter here?"

"He's not my boyfriend. I never met him."

"Why would you fly away with him, then?"

"I'm not going to. That is -- I don't know if I'm going to."

"Shows how smart you are."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just a fairy tale, Mel. Your boyfriend's not coming, 'cos he's not real."

"He is so. I'm quite sure of it now. I'm--"

He chuckled. "Oh, yeah, just like your other boyfriend's coming on a broom!"

"Don't start that again."

"I heard you and Amelia talking. He's going to kiss you and hug you and take you away to school to become a witch, is he?"

"Michael, I'm warning you... "

"Waste of time, I tell you. You already know how to be a witch."

"Michael, you little prat!"

"Okay, sorry. You're not a witch yet. I have to go to bed soon. Did you really want something?"

"Well, it might sound stupid to you, but I'll ask anyway. If stupid Peter Pan ever came and asked me to go his stupid spring cleaning, would my stupid broth... no I take that back. Would you want to go too?"

He looked up at her. "Sis, it's just a story, honest. Would I lie?"

"Yes," she chuckled. "But would you go?"

Michael sighed. "Sure. Save me a seat."

"Okay. That's all I wanted."

"Cool. I can tuck myself in later."

"Soon, huh? It's late."

"But we're on holiday! Ooh, alright, soon. G'night, Mel."

"G'night, shortie. In the morning, maybe we'll walk to the play park."

"Coolest! Oh, could you close your window? It's cold."

"I didn't open any window; silly, it's December!"

"Well, something's open. My pictures are all moving."

Melicent looked at the walls. Sure enough, his drawings were all moving as if in a breeze, and it was a bit chilly.

Her eyes flitted about as a horrible thought came to her. She ran back to her room --

The room was frigid. Some of her things were on the floor, having been pushed off her play table by the waving of the heavy drapes. The windows, indeed, had been opened.

She pushed the heavy windows closed and latched them. Then she looked all over, and in the wardrobe, and under the mantelpiece, and in the bathroom; but, she was all alone.

There were no leaves this time. It didn't matter. Melicent knew for sure now: Peter Pan, visitor from Neverland, was coming to her room. He had come and gone, and she had missed him again.

She didn't know what to do now. Finally, she decided she should write a note about it in the book -- because it might be the last time he ever came. She took the book from its daytime reading berth on her play table, and opened it to her leaf note--

-- and found that another note had since been written on the page, in a very fancy hand.

Now, the children could write well for their age, but certainly not like this. _Was Father in my room? No. Or, could it be... no, Peter Pan was a little boy who couldn't read, so I imagine he shan't be able to write either. Did he learn? What is this all about?_

With little light by the windows, Melicent couldn't make it out. She hurried the book to the gooseneck lamp on her homework table, and examined the large, elaborate curly writing closely. Under a good light, it was much easier to make out. It said:

_I see you know where the leaves come from!  
Perhaps we can meet here at 8, tomorrow evening?_

_It's time you learnt to fly._


	4. The Rustle of Leaves

**4. The Rustle of Leaves.**

At Tuesday breakfast, Melicent chanced to ask her father what his plans were for that night.

"Nothing, really. It's so hard to find a sitter on New Year's Eve, anyway. Miss Temple will be coming to dinner."

Melicent humphed. She didn't like Amy Temple. She could tell Amy had her eye on Father, and so soon after Mum had died! Father didn't seem bothered byAmy's frequent questions about married life. "When will she be coming?"

"About 6.30. We''ll be chatting in the library; you're welcome to join us. Then, we're making some roast beef. That should be a nice break from Christmas leftovers, eh?"

"So what time are we eating?"

"Umm... about 8."

_Oh, no!_ she thought. "8? Could we make it earlier? I'd be so very hungry by 8."

"No, the roast and all will take that long. I'm sure you two detectives can find the cookie plate and the appetisers if you get hungry. Just save some space for real food."

"Oh, I'd really rather eat at 7.30."

"Sorry, Milly, but you'll just have to wait this once. All right there?"

"Oooh... alright, Dad," she said, but it wasn't, really. How could she miss Peter Pan again?

It was a bit chilly, but she took Michael up the road to the play park as promised. There wasn't much to do there in the winter, but it got them out of the house for some exercise. They seesawed a while, and jabbered as sibling children will.

These two might say things to tweak each other, but actually they were quite close. Melicent had found herself almost mothering Michael during the past few months, tending their third-floor nest. Father washed and cleaned, but there were so many little motherly duties that a father never sees.

As they seesawed, a few mothers and nannies passed by, pushing their prams, with babies almost lost inside their huge, warm, wooly bundles. After reading the Peter Pan book, Melicent almost expected to see boy babies toppling out of the carts by the dozens and crawling into the bushes, but none of it happened that day. _Perhaps the nannies are using seat belts nowadays_, she thought.

After a hot lunch, Melicent had all afternoon to concoct her little plan for the evening. It wasn't much of a plan, but it might delay dinner long enough to greet her visitor.

By 5 o'clock, Melicent still had not told anyone about Peter Pan -- not even Michael, though she so wanted to crow about it. Soon she bathed, and brushed, and combed and dressed, and saw to it that Michael did the same.

At 7, on schedule, they went to the front room to say hello to Miss Turner. Melicent wasn't surprised that Amy was talking to Father about babies when they entered.

Having done their duty, they carried the serving tray with the emptied cups to the kitchen, with permission to take some munchies. When he reckoned Melicent wasn't looking, Michael shamelessly sipped from his father's cup. Fear not, it was plain ordinary egg nog. Good thing for him, because strong drink cancels the effects of fairy dust -- which, of course, is why pirates, who drink rum, and Vikings, who drink grog, can't fly.

They went back upstairs. "Stay neat," she reminded Michael. "Yeah," he said. "See you at 8."

Melicent thought otherwise. While Michael had been skiving his sip of egg nog, she had cleverly thought to reduce the heat on the oven. That was the extent of her desperate plan. If dinner was to be so late, she would make it even later, giving her enough time to see Peter!

But, as they say, "the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft aglee." Sure enough, this mouse's plan ganged aglee, which means that despite her cunning trick, the dinner bell rang at precisely 8 anyway, summoning the two mice. As much as Melicent wanted to stay for the appointed visit, she followed Michael down the stairs in gloomy obedience.

"I hope the beef is done enough for you, Melicent," said her father at the table. "I set the oven a bit too low, apparently. But knowing how hungry you are, I didn't want to wait dinner."

Melicent mumbled something that sounded like "That's okay," but of course it wasn't. Dinner couldn't be served fast enough now! Miss Temple slowed things up by asking Michael about school, and he was perfectly willing to run on about it, with a serving dish in his hands, while Melicent gobbled what she had on her plate and listened to precious seconds dripping away on the hall clock.

By the time they escaped the table and headed upstairs, it was 8.42. Would he still be there?

A sleepy Michael said his g'night and went to his room, then Melicent went down the hall -- hurrying, yet in a way scared of what she might find. Would there be a terse, angry _"Good bye forever!"_ in the book now?

The dark room wasn't cold, at least. Nor were any not-a-bats resting on the floor. Perhaps another note in the book? She went to the gooseneck lamp and flicked it on --

-- and a voice said, "Well! Finally we meet!"

A startled Melicent turned to the comfy chair, but no one was there. Nor on her bed, nor by the walls... "Where are you?" she called out.

"Sitting here waiting, and I'm glad I stayed this time."

With a start, Melicent finally spotted her visitor, sitting in the shadows atop the wardrobe.

"It's such a long journey," teased the figure, "and not worth my coming for just a few minutes, if you're going to keep popping out of the room at the wrong moment."

"I'm sorry," answered Melicent, "but it's New Years' Eve, and Father is entertaining, so we ate dinner late. Could you come down into the light? I'm talking to a shadow."

"Of course!" came the voice. "I should introduce myself, although I left you a good clue -- my handwriting! Did you recognise it, Melicent? Can you tell me who I am?"

"Oh my, let me think; how can I decide? So very _many_ little boys dressed in leaves come flying in my window, you understand! Well, you're Peter Pan, of course! Aside from that, how could I be expected to recognise your handwriting? I never knew you could read or write!"

A figure sprang to the floor, dressed in those leaves she was expecting to see. "Oh, but I did write you. I wrote you so very much. You see, I'm not Peter. In fact, if you'll look at me in the light, you might see I'm not even a boy -- and shame on you for not noticing!"

Now that she mentioned it, Melicent saw that the visitor was older and taller than Peter's description, and girl-shaped, and looked like she had all her teeth as well. Melicent could only stare in silence, thoroughly puzzled now.

"Oh, I'm teasing you just the little bit. I'm pleased to finally meet you; I've looked forward to seeing this latest set of Darling children, and you two even have the Darling name! So do I. My name is Wendy."

"Wendy," pondered Melicent, and then -- "WENDY?"

"Aha, now you've thought it out, haven't you? Clever girl! Yes -- that one. I'm Wendy Darling, who created your Peter Pan book."

Melicent stood for several seconds with her mouth wide open. "But -- that's impossible, you're... "

"Now, let's gather up Michael before he goes to sleep. We must practise our flying, and be off."

"B-but I have so many questions!"

"We'll have time for that. First, bring Michael, and we'll learn to fly. You're not afraid of heights, are you?"

"Not terribly," said Melicent, coming back to reality, if this was reality. "But then, I haven't jumped out a third-floor window yet. Wait just a moment, and I'll get Michael."

She ran to her brother's little room, and found him in his pajamas, crawling into bed. "Don't go to sleep yet. I have a surprise for you! Come see!"

"Why, is your boyfriend here?"

"You're close, shortie. Come on!"

Michael was, of course, astonished when she brought him into her bedroom and he saw their visitor with his own sleepy eyes, but he quickly recovered, and his first words were typical Michael.

"Peter! I always _knew_ you'd come!"


	5. The Flight of the NotaBat

**5. The Flight of the Not-A-Bat.**

"You'll have to pardon Michael," said Melicent. "He fibs often, but if you wait a moment, and press him, he always makes good by it, so you couldn't really call him a fibber. Right, Michael?"

"Oh, okay; so I thought you were a fairy tale."

"In a way, I am, Michael," answered their guest. "I should not be able to talk to you but for some sort of fairy magic, as Melicent has realised. I'm just a friend of Peter -- I'm Wendy, the one you Mum called your 'long-ago grandmother.' I wanted a spare dress, so I made it Peter's way, out of leaves, and it's very comfortable."

Melicent, who had seen Wendy Darling's gravestone, kept her puzzlements for later. "Must be quite distressing, though, when parts of your dress can fall off whenever they please!"

"That wasn't me on the first night. Peter came, actually. I've patched his sleeve where those leaves came off. Now I'm here, for the same purpose as he was: to invite you to fly to Neverland. Can't break the Darling family tradition, can we?"

"Way cool!" said Michael, accepting it all as a young child would.

"Oh, no," reassured Wendy, "you won't feel cold at all, Michael. It's nicely warm where we're going, and comfy while we're flying."

"No, he means he likes it," explained Melicent . "So flying is the only way?"

"My goodness, you don't want to walk. I mean, you could walk, but it's so much farther, and so many inconveniences -- traversing a live volcano while balancing on your hands, and all the time carrying a shovel, a parasol, a compass and several chocolate bars; then, battling a polar bear or two, and crossing ever so many busy streets -- not to mention the trolls begging coins on the weekends!"

"Melicent's other boyfriend beats up trolls," joked Michael.

Melicent blushed. "Quiet, you! Sorry, Wendy, he's talking about a character in a book -- a not-real one."

"That's all right. You're allowed to have friends in a book. Did my book make you like Peter?"

"I'm not sure. He's not trying very hard to grow up, is he? After all these years, one would think he would have tired of being so small. If he really wanted a mother, he should have come here with the lost boys, and your mother would have found him a home of his own."

"I agree, but he's not lonely or unhappy where he is. And now look -- a Darling girl and boy are the most motherless ones of all. What an ironic turn of events! At any rate, let's learn to fly. Lean forward now, children, and let me dust you... that's a good boy... and you, Melicent... there. With that, ladies first!"

Melicent didn't feel any lighter, and bounced on her toes several times, but still remained fastened to the rest of the planet. Nervous about falling, she jumped straight up, but came down as usual. "Nothing," she said.

Michael, making aeroplane noises, stretched his arms out and leapt, and actually got off the floor briefly, making a half-turn in the air before coming down.

"That's odd," said Melicent. "Why is it Michael can fly, and I can't?"

"It's 'cos you're prob'ly too fat from seconds," taunted Michael.

Wendy smiled. "No, Michael, that's not it. Melicent, when you believe but don't try, or try when you don't believe, you can't succeed. You must believe _and_ try! You might not succeed right off, but give it a chance. Have another go."

_Believe and try... believe and try... alright._ She couldn't hurt herself jumping off the floor, could she? It wasn't like falling out the window, or out of bed, or even out of a pram.

Melicent decided she was a flying not-a-bat, floating around in her cave of dreams. She picked a spot in midair, in front of the window, and decided to fly towards it. She took a few steps on tiptoe, leaned forward and leapt lightly...

Her toes should have returned to the floor momentarily, but she didn't feel the floor anymore. There was nothing holding her up -- but she was still standing! _Well, keep going, silly!_ she told herself. "Not-A-Bat, awaaaay! Whoooo!"

She aimed for her midair goal, and surprised herself by reaching it. _Well, now where? On with it! You can't lounge up here all night! _She looked over her shoulder, and swooped back towards the hall door, without hitting the wardrobe or the lamps. It took only a second or so to get there, then back towards the window. This was becoming quite easy!

She looked down to wave at Michael, but he wasn't there. Neither was Wendy. _Where...?_

"Right behind you, Melicent," said Wendy. "Do figure-eights so we won't get dizzy."

Michael, flapping his arms for no good reason, was doing well, too. "See, Mel? I _told_ you you could fly."

"So, are you two about ready?" asked Wendy.

Melicent suddenly thought of their father. "Almost," she answered, and putting on the brakes, she descended to the floor by the lamp, and hurriedly opened the Peter Pan book to her notes, and added:

_Michael and I and Wendy Darling are flying to Neverland to see  
__Peter. I'll keep Michael safe, not to worry. We'll be __back soon.  
Melicent Darling, 31 December, 2002, at 9.20 PM. __Happy New Year._

Leaving the book open to that page, she put the pen down, turned, and smiled, with a gleam of anticipation in her eyes. "Yes. I'm ready." And she leapt off the floor.

Wendy tugged the windows open. "Follow me!"

Melicent was out and over the roofs across the street before some flurries reminded her it was December. "The windows! How can we close and latch the windows from outside?"

"You needn't latch, they... oh dear, they don't stay shut by themselves anymore. I hope I didn't freeze you out last night!"

"No problem," fibbed Melicent.

"It's tricky, but I'll show you. Just tug this thing on the ornamental iron to close them, then turn these gadgets to 'dog' them, same as inside. My, they're hard to turn -- you lot haven't used those in ages, have you?"

"We're not often outside a third-floor window, you know."

"True, I have done this more often than you," smiled Wendy. "Get Michael from the roof, and let's be off."

"Michael! That chimney's sooty! Come on."

"Coming."


	6. Straight On 'Til Morning

**6. Straight On 'Til Morning.**

We have taken so much time to get this far, reading gravestones and going to meals and listening to Melicent prattle! I'll try to be faster, and shoo them along to Neverland as quickly as I can, although it's a long flight. I hope, dear Readers, you haven't fallen asleep. All those who are asleep, please raise your hand... no one? Good.

But, remember, Melicent and Michael haven't had any sleep either. Here they are, flying, and they might fall out of the sky if you nod off! We'd better keep an eye on them for a while. Once we've got them safely in Neverland, you can have a nap. And please don't fold the corner of the page to mark your place; it's un-neat, and you might bend a character in half. Have a bookmark ready, so you can come and go.

When Michael asked what they should aim for in the sky, Wendy of course answered with the familiar goal. "See the second one to the right of the Moon -- that particularly bright one? We aim there, then straight on, til morning."

"Oh, just like in Mum's song!" he observed.

"He means your song, Wendy," added Melicent. "Mum taught it to me, and we both sang it to Michael."

"Really! Why, how nice to know you both remember it! Now we'll never have to tell you directions again."

"I wouldn't be so sure. Is the spot always that bright?"

"Actually, no. I lit a bonfire on Pillow Hill before I left, to light my way back. But you'll spot it all right the next time."

"When I was reading about 'second to the right', I started wondering, ' Second to the right of what?'"

"That's why we come when the Moon is in just the right place. Helpful, isn't it?"

"It sounds as though you've thought it out more than Peter does in your book."

"Well, he's only a little boy, y'know -- no matter how long he's been a little boy."

She wondered if they looked like shooting stars to the people down below. They flew across the sky for what seemed like hours before Melicent decided to ask her question.

"Wendy, are you going to tell me how we can be talking to you when you lived so long ago?"

Wendy spent a moment in silent flight before answering. "You're wondering how I can be around in 2002 when I must have died years ago. Is that it?"

"Well, yes. When I go each month to put flowers at Mum's grave, I see yours. It says 'Mother' at the top, and.."

"Be good to me, Melicent," interrupted Wendy. "Don't tell me what my gravestone says! Let it be a surprise to me when it happens."

"Sorry, I...y'mean, it hasn't happened to you yet? So, you're not a ghost, or something like that?"

"No! It's hard to explain. I should have mentioned it in the book, but as you can read, there was quite enough going on there to fill several books. It happened this way. Peter thought that sometime he might need me when I couldn't come to Neverland, so he asked me if I wanted to provide some of my time and let the fairies keep it locked up. They call it a daycloth. When you're young, a week or a month doesn't seem like much, so I agreed they could have a week -- the first week of February, 1892, to be exact, as I've never liked Februaries. I wouldn't let him have January, because that's my birthday. Whenever I visited, they could take out the daycloth, and it soaked up time, or whatever it does, and I would be there, and I'd be14 again as long as I stayed. Now and then, if someone is needed for a day, or a month, or even just an hour, one can ask the fairies to take out their daycloth, and there they are, even if they're back home too. This is one of those times."

"And each time they use it, do you remember from before?"

"Oh, yes. It seems strange at first to be 14 on and on, but it's pleasant. Peter's the forgetful one, not me. And he forgets because he wants to."

"But -- wouldn't a week be used up quickly? Then what would happen?"

"Nothing. That just determines how often they have to wash it. After it's been in use for a while, the fairies have to launder it, rinse it and hang it out to dry in the mountain air, until it's fresh as a daisy. It stays in use until it's not needed, then it's rinsed and dried once more, and folded neatly, and put away in the loft again, under a fairy lock, with the rest of the daycloths. I last flew out of Neverland in 1898, and yet I've been around every day since way back when!"

"Do they do this all the time?"

"Some stay around all the time, and others just on occasion. But at the moment, Neverland needs a lot of 'chatting and sweeping', as it were. Not only am I there, but my daughter Jane as well, and with us both using daycloths, we seem to be about the same age! It gets a bit noisy for Peter with us Darling girls around, nattering away as girls do. And now you'll be there too, and Michael."

"Aren't any other Darling boys there for Michael to play with?"

"Oh, you never know what Darlings you might meet if you're there long enough.. There haven't been too many boys in the family, but if they were ever there and agreed to a daycloth, then perhaps we'll see them pop in sometime. Oh, the famous 'lost boys' are back, too, but for a different reason. You'll meet them."

"What about our Mum?"

"I haven't seen her in years. I'd like to tell you that she's there, but if she ever saved a week, I don't know about it. Until you wrote it in the book, I didn't even know she had died. I'm so sorry for you!"

"Yes... thanks. This whole time-thingy thing still seems impossible. I mean, you did live in 18-such-and-such, so you shouldn't be here, yet here you are."

"I've thought about it, too. Look at it this way: Perhaps you've heard folks say, 'It's neither here nor there.' That means it's not important. Am I important?"

"Of course!"

"Then I must be either here, or there! Why, if we follow your logic, then I can't be here. Perhaps I'm not. Then again, I know I've brought you here -- so perhaps I am here, and _you're _not."

"I'm confused."

Wendy nodded. "That's two of us. So let's not think about it."

"Okay. Er... Wendy, where's Michael?"

"Oh, dear. Sleepy, isn't he? We do have to keep an eye on him. Just a moment." Wendy flipped to the left and dove down below the growing bank of clouds. Melicent didn't know if she should stop or keep going, so she continued on course, occasionally glancing over her shoulder to watch the last lights of England fade away.

Before Melicent could become too worried, Wendy returned with a snoozing Michael in tow. The girls each took one of Michael's hands to bring him along.

"Sorry about that, Melicent. The poor kid had a long day, did he?"

"Yes. Walking, and seesawing, and staying up late for dinner, and all that useless arm-wagging. He's still small, so I try to help him with some things, since Mum's not around. Of course, I can't do it as well as she could, or nearly as much. And mothers have a big hug and a big lap. But I might tie his laces if I see they're loose, tuck him in at night, carry his laundry back and forth, walk him to Fulsom School. That sort of thing."

"Well, since you're a good big sister, see to it he learns to do all these things for himself. He's not your baby, just your brother. How old is he, 7 or so? I'd wager he can knot his own laces."

"I know he can; I mother him too much. He'll be alright. He gets in my hair once in a while, but he can be sweet too."

"I know the feeling, Melicent. Enjoy it while it lasts."

They chatted on about many things. In a few hours, there was a brightly flickering orange light ahead, low on the horizon, directly on their path. "Is that a star, or the dawn?" asked Melicent.

"Better than either of those. It's my bonfire. We're there!"


	7. Second To The Right

**7. Second to the Right.**

The cloud bank wisped away, and Melicent felt very small in the scheme of things as Neverland suddenly appeared below them from horizon to horizon, a huge place in the middle of an even huger sea, brilliantly coloured by the reddish-golden dawn ahead of them. The vegetation was thick, with trees in every shade of greens and reds and browns, and fields resplendent with waving grasses and a rainbow of flowers.

"Wake up, Michael," urged Melicent, shaking his arm. "You don't want to miss this!" They had never flown in a balloon or airplane, so this vantage point was novel and breath-taking.

Obviously some changes had come about, but it still looked as adventuresome as ever. To the left, beneath a localised snow squall, several Viking-like ships were approaching the island in rough seas, while to the right, on a mountain pass, a huge crowd of fancily-costumed men was on the move, accompanied by horses and camels and elephants.

In a plain ahead, amid colourful wagons, they could see the cooking fires of gypsies preparing their breakfast, while lively young dancers and musicians cavorted. In a distant lagoon, what must be Captain Hook's old pirate ship still bobbed at anchor in the rising tide of the morning.

In a jungle below, boys could be heard whooping down a path carrying spears and bows for hunting. On a peak, a pair of western Indians faced the dawn, and honoured its return.

Wendy drew them lower as they neared the Pillow Hill bonfire, and the land speedily came up to meet them. The chirping of birds and the singing of fairies -- or was it the other way around? -- grew louder.

Some large exotic birds flew alongside, out of a curiosity for these newcomers, and Michael flapped his arms and joined them, as though it was the most natural thing for him to do. They welcomed his company and led him to the hilltop. Melicent followed them to the ground, while Wendy went for water buckets to put out her bonfire.

Michael was admiring the view when the girls joined him. "I know why it's called Pillow Hill," he said.

"Really?" asked Melicent.

"If you don't know, it's 'cos you're a girl."

"Now what's that got to do with it?"

"Because you don't play with toy soldiers on the bed! That great hill behind us looks like the top end of the bed, and this is the pillow, and there's a big flat plain, and all those mountains over there are like the blankets all schrunched up to make hills."

"Hmmm!" said Wendy. "I never thought of it that way -- but, as a matter of fact, they're called Headboard Ridge and the Blanket Highlands. They were probably named by a boy, then. Very good, Michael!"

"Is that Peter's house on the ridge?" asked Melicent.

"It was. He's making a new house in the village, and we're helping. Tinker Bell preferred the old house where it was, so she's in a right state."

"That can't be the same Tink, can it? I thought you wrote that fairies don't live long."

"They don't," replied Wendy, "but it is quite remarkable how a fairy will keep recurring if it has a name. Nanny-dogs are the same way. If you ever meet your grandmother Belle, she'll tell you she had a Labrador she called Nana, and was so sure my Nana had returned, for she was quite alike in demeanour. Well, Tinker Bell is so alike the one I knew before that it seems like she never left. She certainly is just as persnickety."

As excited as they were about arriving, even Melicent would have to admit they were awfully worn down by their trip, and lack of a proper night's sleep. Pillow Hill seemed an appropriate spot to lay down her head and take a badly needed nap.


	8. Lost and Lost Again

**8. Lost and Lost Again.**

There is nothing to match awakening outdoors on a warm and beautiful sunny morning -- especially when yesterday was the middle of a cold, cooped-up, steampipe-clanking London winter!

Melicent woke to insects buzzing about, searching for nectar. She yawned, stretched, and looked around her. _It is so nice to be here_, she thought. _What a peaceful, quiet place._

WHUMP! A spear plunged into the ground, inches from her.

"What in the world!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet, ready to run for her life.

There was a crowd of laughter behind her. She turned to find Michael, dressed in two raggedy animal skins, one as a sort of vest and the other around his waist. Behind him were a dozen other similarly clad boys his age. "Made you jump," he teased with a smile.

"You little prat! What was that all about -- and where are your clothes?"

"I'm going hunting. I can't hunt an elephant in my pajamas, can I? They're at the house in the village. This is the way us hunters dress."

"I think you've been seeing too many cartoons. Hunters don't dress like Tarzan. They wear sensible clothes, and boots, and a hat for the sun. Now, if you're finished hunting me, let's get you dressed and look for Peter."

"Can't. I told you, I'm going hunting. I'll be back for dinner. They're waiting for you in the village."

"Who's waiting?"

"Wendy and the lost boys. See you later. C'mon, guys." With that, Michael pulled the spear out of the ground and trooped downhill with the others towards the jungle, leaving a somewhat befuddled Melicent.

Okay, so the world had started its day without her. She decided to take a calm stroll down the hill, rather than flying. It would be more relaxing -- especially if no one else tried to skewer her on the way.

The "village" was a mishmash of buildings. A thatch-covered stucco longhouse seemed to be a pub or something, and a blacksmith's shop was nothing more than a tiny shed under a tree. A baker tended a yard full of dome-shaped brick ovens, while greengrocers did business from horse-drawn wagons, and a few specialty shops were in a row.

Across the stone-paved street was a home dug in the ground, with a sign showing a hand pointing straight down at the entrance. The door and windows were even with the ground, and surrounded by grass. Just to be different, the very next house was up a tree.

Nowheres was there any sign saying Bank or Post or Flowers, or anything else. Not one word was printed on anything! _Of course_, she thought. _No one knows how to read or write here. They all came here before they went to school! Well, most of them, anyway. I suppose that means I won't need my library card._

Everybody seemed busy and happy at whatever they were doing. They noticed Melicent walking, and smiled. Most were fairly young, but not everyone, and they certainly weren't all seven-year-olds in animal skins.

The thought of clothes reminded her to look down, and she blushed.

_Oh, milord! I'm still wearing my good clothes from dinner last night! Now they're all wrinkled from sleeping in them, and look at those grass stains! I must look a sight!_

She hurried on, looking for Wendy, and finally spotted a sign that actually said something. It was brief and to the point: PAN.

Some of the house seemed to be under construction, so she poked her head in the finished wing, which wasn't underground or up a tree, but right in front of her.

Through the doorway was a hall with several more doorways. "Hello?" she called to no one in particular.

Wendy's head poked around a corner from the kitchen door to her left. "Oy, Melicent, we're in here. Join us. How was your nap?"

"Very restful, thanks. Wendy, before I meet everybody, I would love to change into something else. I feel silly walking around the village and meeting people in these dirty wrinkled clothes."

"Not to worry. They see children arriving in nightgowns and every sort of clothing. I think we can help. Leaf dresses are all the rage in Neverland -- well, in this house, anyway. Can I adjust one of mine for you?"

"That will do fine, thanks." And so, Melicent went native, as her brother had. When in Rome, and all that, y'know. She admired herself in a mirror, and thought she looked quite fit in her leafy attire -- although Father might think the hemline was a bit high off the ground. Soft leather slippers, also in leaf green, finished it off. Now, she was ready for the world.

"Gentlemen," announced Wendy, "may I introduce my great-great-great-granddaughter at her debut before Neverland's most upper-crust society -- and you certainly are crusty. I give you -- Melicent Ann Darling!"

Applause, and one or two wolf whistles, greeted her entrance to the kitchen. She did her very best curtsy ever -- and without falling on her bottom, or anything.

"Wull," said a voice from the back of the room, "she's prettier dressed than the little guy in the skins, anyway."

"Oh, no!" she said in mock shock. "You didn't see my little brother! I'm so sorry! We try to keep him locked in the loft back home, so the neighbours won't see. Oh, how embarrassing. My life is ruined!"

"Hee, hee, hee. Now, Milly Ann, get over here and sit, and talk to us so we can start on the bubbly. Wendy's been keeping us waiting."

"It's Melicent. You're drinking champagne at this time of day?"

"No, no, no. Seltzer-water fruit punch. Even you can drink that. Also got a nice cake for the occasion."

"Well, that's wonderful of you. Thank you all."

"And welcome to our happy little isle. Hope it stays that way with you for many more visits."

"Wendy, you'll have to introduce me around."

"Actually, you may know all these gents from my book. These are some of the 'lost boys', who stayed at Number 14, and went to school, and took jobs. Through some odd circumstances, they've all become hopelessly lost again, and found their way back here. They're permanent residents now."

"Did you all fly here?"

"None of them flew. They all found inventive ways to walk it. The twins, here, came through France."

"What were you doing in France?" asked Milicent.

"Spelunking," answered one.

"Sounds messy, whatever it is."

"It's exploring caves and caverns," said the other. "Ever been in a cavern?"

"Sort of," she answered, thinking of her bedroom. "So what happened?"

"We crawled, and walked, and waded, like all good spelunkers do, and of course we also drew an excellent map as we went. Nevertheless, we couldn't find our way out. We must have walked for miles and miles, and..."

"No, no, no, no," said his twin. "It couldn't have been that way."

"Blimey. Why not?"

"Think, mate! We were on the continent! Ye can't walk for miles and miles on the continent."

"Oo, right. Thanks for that. Sorry. We must have walked for kilometers and kilometers. In the end, we surfaced in a cave right here, on the shore of the lagoon. What luck, eh?"

"So," she asked, "do you think Neverland is in France?"

"Don't think so, dearie," said a twin. "I mean, we did have to walk on our hands on a narrow bridge across a live volcano. I think any volcanoes in France would be the proper kind, above ground. Nope, none of these improper underground-type volcanoes in France. So I'd reckon we left France at some point. Besides, there were the polar bears -- but, why run on about it now."

Wendy nodded agreement. "And how about you, Nibs?"

"Nothing so colourful," he said. "As Alistair Nibs, I took a reporter's position with the Wiltswick _Daily Item_, and was living alone. Working late one winter day, I got lost coming home in a snowstorm... those tiny winding streets, y'know. Nothing looked familiar, and all the shops were closed. After a few hours, I reckoned I'd better stay in one place, in case others were searching for me. Well, bad luck on that, 'cos nobody missed me. After a nap in a doorway, I resumed walking. The next day, I saw what I thought was the _Item_ office. I walked in, hung up my hat and coat, and went to work, writing a story about the fierce storm. It turned out I was back here, I was. Neverland didn't have a newspaper or an editor before. So I figured I was much in need, started a paper, and I've been here ever since."

"That's a nice story," Melicent smiled. "Does your newspaper have cartoons?"

"Not really. Here's what it looks like." He reached for one and handed one to her. "As you can see, cartoons and pictures would take too long."

She nodded agreement -- since the newspaper, the Neverland _Town Crier_, had been neatly printed by hand, with a pencil, on one side of the sheet.

"Uh... doesn't a newspaper usually use a press?"

"No press here. Wouldn't know where to get one, either. Much too much trouble, and the ink gets all over you. Besides, I only put out one copy."

"Surely you need more than one copy! We girls can read, the lost boys can read, and..."

"Lots can read, but most don't. These boys usually hear all the decent news during the day, so they don't mostwise bother. Besides them, you Darling lot seem to be the only ones who love to read, and it doesn't take too long for one copy to make the rounds. There's a grackle who carries it to everybody in turn. After that, it's the grackle's, and he can't read worth a rap, so he just puts it on the bottom of his cage. No sense doing a second copy -- unless we get a second grackle."

"Well, that seems like so much trouble for you. I'm such we girls all appreciate it, nonetheless -- and the grackle."

"Thank y', Missy. Only putting my education to use for the benefit of the populace, like any other good news editor."

The twins told her about the other lost boys and how they came to be re-lost.

Tootles had been as unfortunate as he ever was. By applying himself at school, he had risen to be Judge Jonathan Tothill of the London courts. One day, tired from suffering a particularly boring barrister for hours on end, he lost track of time while riding the Underground home. He sat as the train rolled on, insisting to himself that the station names were not in any part of London he knew. He finally stepped out at a station with the dimly familiar name of "Pillow Hill". Resting on a bench, he fell asleep -- and woke on a mountain back in Neverland. Judges were rarely needed here, so he was now the baker down the road.

The current leader of the Crusaders roaming Neverland was none other than Slightly, who in England married a lady of rank and title who equalled him in conceit, thus becoming Lord Slightleigh. His downfall, coordinationalistically, was the endless winding maze of halls in Buckingham Palace, during a visit to Her Majesty. "In that great big joint," said a twin, "it's a wonder even Queenie can find her way to her throne every day."

"If you want to show your respect," said Melicent, "her name's Elizabeth."

"No, it's not. It's Victoria, thank you."

"I knew that, too," said the other twin.

Melicent corrected herself for their era. "Oh... right. Victoria."

Curly -- alias Paul Curland, office worker for a millinery -- had no sense of direction. He became disoriented on side roads in Borough Market, for the nth time. Thinking to extract himself quickly from this recurring problem, he stepped through a shop door to ask directions, and found himself in the back room of the _Town Crier_, with no door to return to London. He now raised a few cows and tended the pub -- except on days when he got lost walking to work.

"It's our lot in life. If you're lost as a boy, you'll be lost as a man, I always say!" intoned Nibs.

Michael returned in late afternoon, bringing two hares for stew. Melicent took him aside, and while he fidgeted and whined, she adjusted an old shirt and trousers of Nibs to fit her underdressed brother. Now he had proper clothing for the village.

"I have to wear fancy pants, while you go around in that sissy tutu?"

"Hush. It's traditional garb."

"I'll laugh when you start shedding in autumn."

"Hush, I said. And by the way, when you're talking to these folks, don't mention anything about people dying back home. They don't want to find out when someone died."

"They don't know Mum died?"

"Wendy found out from a note I wrote in the book. Nobody else knows. Wendy doesn't even know about her own death. She knows it must have happened by now, and her daughter knows but won't tell when, or anything."

"Is she like a ghost?"

"No. She's almost like a copy, but she's real here. It's a long story; I'll explain later."

"Okay."

The children were getting ready for bed that night when Tootles peaked in their room long enough to introduce himself and hand Melicent the _Town Crier_. "A lovely job, Melicent. Congratulations."

"Indeed, Melicent," added Nibs, passing by. "Bravo, encore!"

"What did you do now?" asked Michael.

"Well, while you were off whooping around the jungle in your skivvies, I did my work and then I was sitting here bored, so I wrote a poem for the paper, and Mr. Nibs printed it. See?"

She pointed him to the lower left corner of the page, where he read:

MELICENT'S SONG.  
Contributed by one of our newest visitors.

_Just take the time and you can be in Never, forever!  
You're never ever lost for time in Never.  
You can't be there, but yet you are;  
It's not so very, very far,  
And just by flying to a star -- how clever!_

_Some dust will make you lighter than a feather, forever!  
Just close the sash when off on your endeavour,  
Then fly above the city bright,  
And off into the starry night,  
Then towards the second to the right, to Never!_

Michael pretended he wasn't impressed. "That's silly! What a sissy-poem! Why are you telling everybody how to get here? They're already here!"

Tucking him in, she humphed at her critic. "Jungle savage."

"Sissy-girl."

"See if I tuck you in anymore."

"Good. Don't. I'll get to stay up later."

"And I won't pick up your dirty clothes anymore, either. Let it sit on the floor until something grows in it."

"Good. I'll water it."

"Yeah, and it'll grow into something that eats your toes some night."

"Oh, go fly a broom. You should have seen me today, taking on a tiger."

That brought her up short. "A tiger?"

"Well, it was just a little one, but they can be vicious too."

"Oh, I see. And how did you take it on, oh great hunter? Give it a dish of milk?"

"It wasn't that small. But I caught it, and put it in a sack, and later we sold it to the Crusaders. I got six big gold coins for it, see?" And sure enough, from the bedside table he produced the coins. They all bore a fierce image of Lord Slightleigh.

"Wow! Well.. okay, congratulations. That was very good for your first day. But so was my poem, at least a little."

"Yeah, I suppose. It wasn't bad, really. At least you can't get scratched writing a poem."

"Scratched? Michael! Did the tiger claw you? Are you bleeding?"

"Take it easy, Sis. It was just on the back of my hand, see? I washed it and everything. It's nothing. It's okay."

"Well, take care of yourself, " she said, dousing the candle and jumping into her bed. "It's a jungle out there."

"Oh, thanks, Sherlock. 'It's a jungle.' Duh! Tomorrow, I want to watch what the grackle does to your sissy-poem."

"Savage."

"Sissy."

The darkened room was silent for a minute. Then --

"G'night, Mel."

"G'night, shortie."

Michael didn't shift or toss or flop about, as we often do when we edge closer to that precipice called sleep. He was perfectly willing to fall off. A day of tiger-catching is hard labor for a seven-year-old; dreaming takes much less energy.

Melicent just as quickly toppled off. That night she dreamt that a handsome young boy sat at the foot of her bed, playing a flute for her...

Well, no. To tell the truth, it really happened, and she just dreamt that she dreamt it. About time, it is. A fine kettle of fish; eight chapters finished, and the readers are beginning to grumble at me, and this little kid is just now showing up.


	9. Peter, Piper

**9. Peter, Piper.**

Breakfast is such a chatty time. You haven't been anywheres in half a day, and you should be busily shoveling food into your mouth, but everybody wants to chat!

While they passed a loaf of Tootles' bread around, Nibs posed a question for the newcomers. "You must tell us how you prefer to be called here."

Ladies first, of course. "Well, my name is Melicent, like Millicent but with an _e _and only one _l_, although my parents always call... well, my father always calls me Milly, which is okay. My brother calls me Mel, which is okay sort of, and sometimes just Sis, but that's beside the point. My teacher calls us by our last names, so I'm Darling, and everybody laughs at how its sounds, but I don't mind. So, I'd prefer you call me Melicent."

Her brother was more terse. "I'm Michael. Any kid calls me the wrong way, I'll punch him in the nose."

Melicent, seated alongside him, couldn't resist. "Unless he's over four feet tall, then you'll punch him in the knee. Oo, Michael Darling! What a cute name for a boy. Hello, you little _darling_, you!" A sidewards jab with a bony little elbow made her stop pinching his cheek and cooing.

Wendy smiled. "So I've been using the right names. Good! And don't worry about that last name. Darling is no worse than many others."

Melicent nodded. "Michael says he'll be off on the hunt again. What should I do while I'm here?"

"There's a few more light jobs here in the kitchen. It's your first trip, so enjoy yourself looking around and meeting folks. If you have some stories for the newer boys, you might tell some."

"Okay, when they're back from hunting. Speaking of meeting, where's Peter?"

"He's here. Did you like his bedtime concert for you last night?"

"Oh! I thought it was just a dream. I must have been half asleep. I hope I applauded."

"No. And you snored though the best parts," chuckled a voice at the door. Melicent looked up.

It was Peter Pan, unmistakably. He appeared to be about eight -- and dressed in leaves, naturally. He was fresh-faced, with a cocky grin. Confirming previous reports, he had all his teeth and a big ego.

_Really cute_, thought Melicent,_ but_ _cheeky._

"When I started playing my very best song, you turned over on your tummy and ignored me."

"I'm sorry; what I heard of it was beautiful, thank you, but you keep showing up at the wrong time, when I'm either not home or sound asleep. Aside from that, I'm pleased to meet you too. I'm Melicent Darling, and this is my brother Michael."

While the others exchanged snickers, Peter sat down opposite Melicent, munching on bread, silently staring at this noisy little intruder in his life. "You are a girl, aren't you? You talk like a boy."

"Yes, I'm a girl, and I know you're just playing. I came all this way to see you, and sweep and chat, or I guess I can tell stories, or whatever we do for you. I'm glad to be here; it's a gorgeous little island. And I'd love to hear your concert again, if you wouldn't mind -- just not at bedtime."

"I might play it again... if you promise not to nod off and snore."

"Don't play lullabies and I'll give it my best."

"I guess you're a mother. I'll find something for you to do while you're here. I'm captain, y'know. I'm captain of the whole island!"

"Oh? I was wondering about that. The only coins I've seen so far seem to have a picture of Slightleigh, not you."

"I've seen his coins. If I ever get some gold, I'll have Smithy make some coins, too, and my picture will make it worth twice as much, at least."

"Slightleigh doesn't seem too concerned who's captain, if he's leading his own army around your island, and doing what he pleases."

"Oh, let him. I'm still captain here."

"I shouldn't be talking like this, anyway. This is your house, and I'm just a guest. I apologise if I've been rude."

"That's alright. You're just new here."

"So is Melicent going to be your girlfriend?" asked Michael, earning a kick under the table from his sister, and more snickers.

"Ask her. She didn't come here for that," laughed Peter. "You're Michael?"

"Yeah, and I'm already a hunter. Gonna be the bestest one. Already caught a tiger and two hares myself. Do you hunt?"

"Sure. I'll go hunting with you lot today, if you're going."

"Cool beans!"

"Pardon?"

"He means he likes it," sighed Melicent, already tired of translating Michael's superlatives.

"Well, let's find the other hunters and be off, then." Peter and Michael scrambled from their chairs and headed out.

"Good to see they get along. Happy little fellow, that Peter, eh?" said Nibs.

"Yes," agreed Melicent. "Happy as any other peacock."


	10. The Fright of The NotABat

**10. The Fright of the Not-A-Bat.**

As the boys headed off for their day, another someone came to visit. Melicent knew her only from faded, brownish photos in an album.

The girl was almost a twin for Wendy, but with light red hair. She entered the house, shopping basket in hand. "Hi! You fit the description of a certain Melicent Darling."

"And I should know you from your description. Are you Jane?"

"Got it on the first try, kiddo! Your great-great-grandmum, Jane Fynnis. How are you?"

"Fine, gra... er, Jane. And you?"

"Equally effervescent, thanks. Is your brother in? I hear he's a cutie, too."

"No, he left with Peter. He'll be back tonight. Come in, I'll make tea."

"Thank you, no. I just came for my Mum to shop. Your poem was beautiful, by the way. Very accomplished for a nine-year-old."

"Don't swell her head, Jane," said Wendy. "She's a pretty feisty kid already. You should have heard her first meeting with Peter."

"Oh, a tough girl? Good for you, Melicent. Peter is a fine boy, but he can afford to come down a few notches. Don't take any nonsense, but stay charming. Ready, Mum?"

The "sisters", both aged 14 thanks to the daycloths, went off to the greengrocers to shop for dinner, leaving a cheered-up Melicent tidying up the kitchen. Per Wendy's suggestion list, she swept the fireplace ashes into bins for the boys to carry out, and set some new kindling in place to start tonight's fire. She replaced the spent candles on the table, dusted the window sills, and put the dishes and cups away. She was busy, busy, busy, but not too overworked to hum and sing.

It was between songs that she heard the odd sound.

What was that? It was a hollow sound, like a large china pot being dragged on a rough stone floor. Then, silence. Then, it would start again.

Then it came to her what it was.

It was a growl.

The floorboards in the bedrooms squeaked. Whatever it was, it was not only large and growly, but it was also in the house with her.

There was a flurry of noise as things crashed, broke and tore.

She got that numb, icy feeling all over, the sudden feeling of pure terror. What should she do? The only way out was the front door in the hall, and she knew that had to be a good idea. She kicked off her noisy slippers and headed barefoot for the door.

The noise became louder. It was out of the bedrooms, creeping up the hall towards her.

If it was a race for the door, she was determined to win it. _It's time you learnt to fly_, she remembered. She leapt towards the doorway and flew --

-- narrowly avoiding the swipe of clawed paws leaping at her with a roar.

She hovered ten feet up in the air, her heart pounding, as it roared at her from outside the door.

It was a full-grown tiger, in muddy white with black stripes, looking angrily at her!

The noise had drawn the attention of others, and Tootles came running up first, armed only with a long-handled peel. (That's the big paddle they use to put bread and pies in the oven.) He held it high in the air with both hands; as light and harmless as it was, it must have looked huge and dangerous. The tiger decided not to argue and began galloping towards the jungle.

"Are you all right, Melicent?"

"Tootles! I was terrified."

"Hmm, seems the appropriate way to be." Melicent came down behind him as they walked in, cautious in case another one was still prowling.

Fortunately, the house was safe again. No damage had been done, except in the children's bedroom. The tiger's target was obvious; it was time for Melicent to go numb again when she saw it.

Michael's mattress and bedclothes had been reduced to shreds.

"Oh, that's not good at all," murmured Tootles. "Not good at all. You had better bring Wendy. Quickly, now!"

Melicent took her hands from her mouth and ran for the door, but Wendy and Jane had already returned on the run. "What happened? What was that?"

"A t-tiger." That was all Melicent could get out.

"Penelope, the Bengal tigress," said Tootles. "A shy loner unless she's crossed, and then she can be a mean one. I'd wager her cub was the one Michael took yesterday, and she followed his scent from the scene. We have to find Peter and the boys and let them know he's being stalked by the mother. If she was mad enough to come into town in daylight, she's really mad."

Wendy was less confident. "Tootles, it's a huge jungle. They could be anywheres."

Melicent had a desperate inspiration. "Give me those coins off the floor."

"What?"

"The coins, quickly! It's a one-off, but it might save his life!"

Tootles looked unsure, but complied. Melicent took the gold and flew like she had never flown before.

Going high over the plain, she strained her eyes in the glaring sun to find her goal. Finally, there they were: the Crusaders, in a valley. She made a beeline for them, landed and ran to the front of the line.

Getting the leader's attention wasn't easy. He ignored her panicky gesturings, and kept the dusty, noisy parade moving. Milicent shouted to stop them. "Lord Slightleigh! I must talk to you, milord! I need your help!"

He reined in and raised his hand, waving the march to a halt.

"Do you have a quest, damsel?"

"I must ask a favour to rescue my brother."

"What would you have us do? Lay siege to a castle? Stave off an invasion? Rescue him from ..."

"None of those. There's no time. I want to buy back the tiger cub. Its mother is tracking my brother to kill him!"

Sleightleigh sniffed. "Fool of a hunter. He created his own enemy. A cub should never be left motherless, nor should a mother be left cubless."

"He's not a hunter. He's only 7 years old, and he did the easy thing. Please!"

"But the cub is beautiful, and the Vikings will give much for it."

"I'm begging you, milord! Oh, do it for Number 14!"

"I have no more time for... Number 14?"

"Yes. For the Darling family and a nanny-dog that took you in, when you were a little boy like my brother, and loved you, and dressed you, and fed you, and taught you, and made you what you are. Please, there's no time to waste."

Sleightleigh looked at the shaking, teary-eyed girl, and some forgotten old spark glimmered in his self-centered heart. "Dumric, being me the cub." A man on a two-hump camel started galumphing forward.

"Thank you, milord," said Melicent. "Here are the six coins you paid for it."

"No," he said. "It is worth a hundred; I would be foolish to sell it for six. Take it as a favour, girl, and remember my generosity until you can repay it."

"Milord. I will repay you if a favour is called."

She took the squirming sack from Dumric. It had been heavily perfumed to keep the horses from catching the scent of a predator. She nodded, and flew for the jungle, breathing in quick little pants, hoping she was in time.

The tigress would have been as hard to find as the boys if she had disappeared into the jungle, but Melicent was lucky enough to see her still running along the edge of the plain, climbing a gradual slope towards the jungle plateau, following the little boy's scent with murder in her heart.

Melicent feared for herself, but bravely landed behind the tigress and yelled "Oy!"

The tigress spun to a halt, facing her puny challenger, roaring loudly and viciously. She recognized the human-cub from the house-nest, where the hunter's scent was strong. _This one must be from the same foal as the hunter. Why take just the hunter? Why not eat this cub first, in revenge? It would be an easy jump downhill._ She dug her claws in, preparing to leap...

Melicent opened the sack, and released the tiger cub. It sat up, blinking at her, looked around, and quickly toddled to its mother.

To the tigress, the little one didn't smell like her cub, but it was unmistakably hers; he begged her nuzzling and attention. This need to love at a moment for hate confused the tigress. So! Her own cub was whole and alive. Why did the human-cub do this? Should she still slaughter this one, and its sibling? Where was the hate, if her cub was safe? Should she put them aside for a hungrier day?

The law of the jungle has more to it than merely eat-or-be-eaten. The tigress looked Melicent the human-cub in the eye, snorted loudly and disrespectfully at her, and turned for the jungle.

Melicent, light-headed and ashen-faced, couldn't even move. _I can't believe I just did that. I must be totally crazy. But I'm still here, and if we're lucky, Michael will be safe. Thank you, Lord -- and I don't mean Slightleigh._

"That was incredible!" said a voice. She turned.

It was Peter, alone.

"Is M-michael alright?" she stammered.

"He's fine. I had just gone flying when I spotted Penelope roaring in your face. You turned her towards home, all by yourself!"

"Th-thank heavens," said Melicent, and fainted.


	11. The Heart of The Original

**11. The Heart of the Original.**

Melicent awoke in the dark. A crowd of voices murmured in the distance.

She opened her eyes, or tried to; it finally dawned on her she had a cool, wet towel over her eyes and forehead. Taking it away made it daylight again. Somehow, she was back in her bed at Peter's house. A glance to the right proved that it hadn't been all a dream; Michael's shredded bed was still scattered on the floor.

She arose and walked towards the voices in the kitchen. Five of them were huddled over the table, working on something. They certainly took notice when she walked in; did they ever!

"Wull!" said a twin. "Just a few minutes' nap, and the tiger tamer has arisen, ready to take on the next one!"

The other twin bowed. "All hail, Queen of the Amazons, junior division!"

"Amazons?" said Melicent, still foggy-headed. "What happened? How did I get back here?"

"You swooned," said Jane. "Naturally, Peter didn't let you lie there; he just threw you over his back and started lugging you home. Well! You should have seen the poor little guy, staggering across the sky carrying a well-fed 9-year-old! I met him halfway and propped him up a smidge, taking most of the load off his back, 'cos he really wanted to get you home safely."

"Thank you for that, and I must thank him. Is he here?"

"Nope. Last we saw, he was winging back to the hunters. Never fear, they shan't be facing any tigers today. We had Peter tell them we're having a fish dinner tonight. They're expected to go fishing."

"Oh, that should hold Michael's attention about an hour."

"Michael's only half your mothering problem now, Melicent."

"What's the other half?"

"Peter. Since he prides himself on bravery, you can imagine how much you impressed him out there. I dare say the boy admires you now."

"Or, it could be puppy love," teased a twin.

Melicent laughed. "Please, no! Jane's right. He just needs a mother, and always has. I should be more polite to Peter; after all, he's trying to be nice. Didn't he tell Wendy once that a girl was better than twenty boys?"

"Exactly," said Jane. "He means no harm, but if you think he crows about himself all the time, wait til he tries to impress you. You'll want to go back to tiger wrestling."

"Thanks a bunch. Hey -- how do you know how he'll act?"

Jane pretended to shiver in dread with the thought. "On my first trip here in 1912, he somehow felt he had to show off. I had just turned nine then. I wanted to fly home after two days of it! But he lost interest, and I survived."

"He's okay -- and a good captain, I'm sure. Everybody loves Peter here."

"At any rate, the twins are shingling the very top of the loft today, so Peter's house is finished; we'll have a little celebration after dinner. That should do for "sweeping" on this visit, leaving you time for any storytelling you care to do, and for the fair, and who knows what other misadventures you might get into. "

"One more matter," interjected Wendy, "since you're Michael's fill-in mother. I told Peter not to tell him about the tigress just yet, until we heard how you would want to do it."

"How so?"

"Your brother's still young and fearless. He doesn't think that something as simple as picking up a kitty could have consequences. If you don't want us to spoil his first visit with a heavy lecture, then we'll just keep an eye on him, and not tell him. On the other hand, what if he sees the cub again tomorrow, thinks it's another easy bag, and does it again?"

"I see. We can always tell him about mother tigers, without bothering him about what happened. He understands mothers! But that means I won't ever tell him about today -- 'cos if I wait to tell him on my own, back home, he'd only think I was bragging and making it up."

"We thought you might go that way. I'll have Peter warn him about mother tigers. As for today, we're busy making you a little gift, and you can hide it for now. Show it to him when you get home, and paste it in the book. He'll believe you."

"Oh, no. What are you doing to me?"

She tried peeking over them, but all she could see was a sheet of paper with large writing at the top:

To  
MELICENT ANN DARLING,  
a Citation for  
BRAVERY.

Melicent blushed. "You are not!"

"Yes, we are. We'll tell what happened," said Jane, "and it'll have our signatures. There's even a space for Peter to put his mark. What's today's date for it, Melicent?"

"Oh. Umm... 2 January, 2002. Uh, 2003, sorry. New year. Have to get used to that."

"Wow. Time flies."

"You don't have to do this, really."

A twin smiled. "You don't know how these girls stick to something once their minds're made up."

"Sure she knows," said Jane. "That's why a Darling girl was out there today, facing that beast! It's in her blood -- and Melicent got it from us."

-o-

The twins, in charge of construction, proudly tacked and painted the last shingles on the loft of the house in early afternoon, then declared their job complete. The girls wandered around in wonderment, and thought it to be quite a house for Peter, built to his specifications.

It began underground, down a ladder, where there was a clubhouse for the boys. Here they could make all the noise they wanted where no one could hear them. There were many shelves and a closet, but there was also a big floor so boys could leave things lying around, as they always do. There were tables, but no chairs. The floor was dirt, so no one would ever have to sweep it, and the boys could dig a tunnel someday if they wished.

We've seen the kitchen and the bedrooms, on the ground level. The kitchen had a lot of chairs and a big table, so no boys would ever have to sit at a little table because the big table was full. There was a trap door in the fireplace wall, just because every house that had boys should have a trap door or two, and secret passages that went somewheres. (_I wish I knew about that when the tigress was here!_ thought Melicent.)

The children's bedroom window had very low sills, in case a boy got bored with sleeping and wanted to crawl outside and play at night. There were lots of hammocks for sleepovers, and all of them were high off the floor, reached by climbing up a tree-shaped lattice that covered the walls. With these, no boy would ever have to sleep on the ordinary beds -- which were only there for jumping and bouncing, of course, and to catch anyone who fell out of a hammock. (Yes, the girls had some more ordinary bedrooms for themselves, which they had tastefully decorated.)

The bathtub was long enough to swim a stroke or two, and had an excellent position by the back of the fireplace so the water was always piping hot and comfy. The bath had a door with three latches, so no one could ever walk in by mistake, and there were no keyholes. (The girls couldn't find any fault with this room; in fact, they loved it!)

Here and there in the hallway were niches, because boys should always have places to hide in. No one knows why boys want to disappear, but they do, at the strangest moments -- usually when someone is looking for them. (They would have to keep the girls from using them as shadow boxes for pots and things.)

The stairway was straight, for high-speed running, and all the steps were particularly loose, so boys would make a lot of loud, thumping noise as they ran or down. There was also a slide, for even quicker trips, plus a niche, in case a boy should get a sudden desire to hide while on the stairs, and a trap door, of course.

The stairway went to a six-sided loft, because if boys are going to live in a big house, it should always have a loft to prowl around in, full of old steamer trunks and magazines and war uniforms and a million other things. From the loft, a window led to a shady porch roof overlooking the street, which was nice for sitting, and eating apples, and throwing spitballs and apple cores at any boy who was late arriving. The roof offered two other convenient means of egress: a very climbable apple tree, and a pole to slide down. The ground below was nice and soft if an occasional boy fell off, not at all the hard ground that you or I would expect.

_This was designed by a boy, alright,_ thought Melicent. _Peter's thought of everything; it's just like Michael would dream it up if he was building a house._

_Neverland is quite a place. If it's all a dream, is it Peter's dream, or Michael's?_

_Or mine?_

_Or a little bit of everybody's?_

-o-

Off shore, two vessels were approaching Neverland, out of sight of each other in the rough waters.

One was the sturdy seagoing craft of the Vikings. They checked their landmarks and knew exactly where they were. They would know when it was time to toss anchors and wade ashore.

The other was a one-man rowboat. As far as its young occupant knew, he was still on a wintry Irish Sea, alone and scared after hours in a terrible Atlantic storm. Alas, all is lost; all is completely, desperately lost.

We know what happens to hopelessly lost boys around here, don't we?

Imagine his reaction once a glorious, warm, sunny island looms on the bow, with a pirate ship to port, Vikings to starboard, and fairies overhead!

Straight on til morning, lad.


	12. Tambours' Clang, Elephants' Thunder

**12. Tambours' Clang, Elephants' Thunder.**

The boys returned in mid-afternoon, the evening meal amply provided. They had baskets of freshly-caught Neverfish, and the twins set about to clean them. Michael proudly held up all fingers on a hand to Wendy: "Five! Tell Mel I caught five!" Then he ran to catch up to the other boys, who were clambering down the ladder to see the new clubhouse.

You might think Peter would have led the race to see the underground room. Instead, he peered into the kitchen and said, "We're back," which everyone knew by now, and "Is Melicent around?" One twin winked knowingly at the other and said, "She's helping Janie tidy up the bedrooms."

Indeed, they were removing the last remaining feathers of Michael's shreaded bed, and none too soon. Michael would simply be told that he could sleep in one of the high hammocks now, and Melicent knew he'd be pleased with that. She was moving to the girls' bedroom, but leaving Michael's six gold coins on his not-a-bedside-stand, which no longer had a bed to be aside.

"Melicent!" said Peter. "Good to see you're about!"

_He's started already,_ thought Melicent. "I'm much better, Peter, thanks. And thank you for carrying me back here. You must be very strong to carry me that far."

Jane gave her a wary don't-encourage-him look. Melicent gave Jane a serene i-know-i'm-only-nine-but-don't-worry-he's-putty-in-my-hands look. (Girls have an innate ability to wordlessly communicate such complex thoughts with each other. Over the centuries, all their attempts to contact boys in a similar fashion have failed miserably.)

"I am!" said Peter, crowing. "I'm the strongest boy in Neverland, by far. Did I tell you I'm captain of the island, too?"

"Are you? Well, I can see why. I'd vote for you for captain. You are far and away the best captain I've ever seen." A safe statement, since Melicent knew no one else who ran an island.

"Is there anything I can do for you to help you tidy up here?"

"Thanks, no. We're doing fine. You'd better keep an eye on the boys. You know how boys are."

"Oh. Yeah. I can't wait to see my new house. Great, isn't it?"

"Yes, great. See you later, Peter."

Peter waved, turned, and promptly collided with the doorway, much to the girls' silent amusement. He shook it off and ran down the hall, nearly ramming Wendy. She shouted after him. "Take a dip in the pond, handsome! And take those boys with you! You're all wearing Eau de Fish!"

"Later!" shouted Peter, heading towards the ladder hole.

"NOW, sonny boy!"

"Oooh...alright." He headed downstairs to summon his fellows to a quick pond dip, so Wendy would leave them alone.

Melicent chuckled. "It sounds like Peter already has a full-time mother, and he doesn't know it."

-o-

In later afternoon, the fair-grounds got busy. Melicent wandered there in curiosity, as did Peter and all the boys of the village to see what it was all about. It was quite a sight, and a glorious noise; two caravans were approaching to encamp.

The colourful horse-drawn wagons of the gypsies rolled in on rumbling red wooden wheels. The teamsters wore the same delightful costumes as their cooks, hunters, traders and others walking alongside. The musicians led them into the fields with lively tunes on their guitars, drums and tambourines, happy at the end of a long journey.

Melicent saw many youngsters among the men, no doubt lost boys who had chosen the life of a gypsy upon arrival in Neverland. Still, there were more than a few girls and women in the crowd, and many babies and toddlers -- a full community, which must have arrived by sea at some time.

Through the dust raised by the gypsies, the second contingent began thundering through, with trumpets and loud thumping drums; the crusaders had arrived. No women moved with this grimy group of wanderers! Melicent and Michael noticed Sleightleigh at the lead, and Dumric leading his camels laden with sacks of exotic snakes and other game, and cages filled with unusual birds. Armies of men passed, bearing a waving rainbow of banners emblazoned with ancient family heraldry. There were wagonloads of spears, archery gear, and nets; their own carpentry shop on wheels, the cooks, and all the other paraphenalia of an army constantly on the move The ground rumbled as brightly-adorned elephants and their young followed the march.

And at the rear, there were oxen towing a wheeled cage...

Melicent's eyes were met by those of the cage's huge inmate. They instantly recognised each other, in mutual sadness.

It was Penelope, with her cub. The crusaders had bagged them both.

-o-

"What will the fair be like?" asked Michael over dinner. "Do they have games, and rides, and circus acts? What about ice cream, and pies, and candy floss?"

"Oh, they'll have some of that," said Curly, who had offered his pub for the fishfest. "You can ride camels and elephants, and dance with the gypsies, and play drums, and there's ice cream and treats to be had til they're comin' out of your ears. You lot are hunters, are you? Try your skill at archery against the crusaders -- they're very good. The gypsies will show you how to hunt pigeons on the wing with a slingshot, and they'll tell stories to rival our storytellers. But watch out for their girls, you young'uns! I hear their young ladies are shy, but very pretty, and irresistably pleasant. They've entranced many a boy here -- or led 'em to run off with the gypsies just to be near 'em. They'll steal your heart, they will!"

"Not our boys," said Jane. "Not unless the girls clean house and clean fish, cook up meals and cook up games, tell stories and tell the boys how great they are. We can do that better than any mere gypsy girls."

"Hear, hear!" agreed Peter, and the girls applauded with him. "But what do people do, mostly, at your fair?" asked Michael

"It's a trade fair," asnswered Nibs, "like in the medieval days. Everyone who has something to sell will be there, looking for buyers. The gypsy craftsmen make many things of wood and metal, and weave baskets and whatnot from things found in the forest, and train dancing bears. The crusaders, despite their fancy name, mainly trap live animals, and the vikings pay gold for them to sell overseas. The villagers will sell carvings and pottery and cloth they've made. Each year, the Vikings bring us what we would find harder to make -- glass, brushes, needles, scales and so many things. Smithy will take the crusaders' gold and stamp it into coins for them. Everyone deals with everyone else."

"Could Michael and I have a booth at the fair if we wanted to?" asked Melicent.

"Of course," said Nibs. "Anyone is welcome, and it's a big enough fairgrounds."

"Rad!" said Michael.

"Pardon?" asked Jane.

"He means he likes it," translated Melicent once more.

"Oh, alright. But -- you have to have something to sell, y'know."

"I've thought of something. Almost nobody here has even one, and most of them can't make one, but I can."

"Sissy-poems?" suggested Michael.

"Quiet, you. No, and I can use the leftover paint and shingles. For our table at the fair, we're going to sell signs."

"Smashing!" said Nibs.

"Huh?" posed Michael.

"He means he likes it," said Melicent for the _n_th time.

Michael didn't. "Yeah, but nobody needs signs because they can't read anyway!"

"Or, they can't read because they don't have signs. If they saw words, maybe they would want to know what they say, and they might be able to read them after a while. I think they'd like to see signs anyway, just because they're something special, something fancy."

Wendy smiled. "It might catch on. I can think of a lot of people who might want signs right away -- the other sellers. Ask them."

Tootles put his vote in. "Wull, I can read. I'll certainly want one for the bakery, as long as everyone else is getting them."

"See, your first sale already!" said Wendy. Good idea. It'll mean some work, but I'll think you'll have a really gay time."

"Huh?" asked Melicent.

"She means she likes it," said Jane.

-o-

Many times that afternoon, whenever she could, Melicent stopped by the tiger cage. Once, she and Michael brought a hare that he had caught, and they gave it to Penelope; she also brought a dish, and poured milk into it for the cub. ("See, sis? See him? The cub in the cage? That's the one I caught! Big, isn't he?") On her last visit, when she came alone, she stood whispering soft words of encouragement to the sad tigress.

A tall shadow loomed. Melicent turned, and there was Sleightleigh.

"You do have an attachment to her, don't you?" he observed.

"Yes," answered Melicent. "I returned her cub, and she spared me and my brother."

"You're a brave and clever girl. I should keep an eye on you while we're here."

"Don't worry. I owe you a favour, and I haven't forgotten it."

"Yet, I should play safe, and collect the favour now, and be done with it."

"What would you have me do, milord?"

"Well, you see, I'm clever, too, and perhaps not as icy as my reputation would have it. I have no hatred for the tigress. She's only here for our profit -- worth for worth, and she is worth much gold. I wouldn't want you disturbing that."

"Are you trying to read my mind?"

"I have read it -- so I'd better tell you terms of your favour before it's too late. If anyone would try to release the tigers from the cage, it would be you. I'm sure you've given it thought. Promise me that you won't even try to do it until they've been sold, and we are safely away. If so, your debt is paid."

Melicent hesitated, but finally nodded her consent. "Okay, sir. I promise to wait."

"How you do it is your problem. I'm sure you'll try. I hope you'll survive the attempt. She won't be entirely happy after days in a cage."

"I'll be careful. She's in there, helpless; I'm out here, and can do something. If she realises that, I should be alright."

"Not to mention the Vikings! They won't be happy if you steal their tigers."

"I know."

"You understand that we might recapture them someday?"

"As you said, how you do that is your problem. Somehow, I don't think they'll let you."

-o-

At dinner, Peter had offered to repeat his serenade for Melicent. She asked if she might choose the location, and he agreed.

If she might have picked the bedrooms, at most one or two other listeners might have joined them. If she had picked the doorway of the house, all the girls and lost boys could have sat on the lawn, and the boys could have sat on the porch roof, and all of them might have heard it.

Instead, she chose to sit on the ground that evening in the center of the fairgrounds, and Peter stood by her and gave a most beautiful performance on the pipes. All the fairgoers went silent. The fairies came down from the ridge to listen; the villagers looked on proudly, the gypsies enjoyed it, and even a crusader or two was seen to smile. That night, Peter Pan was indeed the captain of all the isle.

-o-

In the dark of night, in a waning storm on the Irish Sea -- or the ocean, or the Channel, or the River Styx, or wherever the winds had blown him by now -- a young lost lad in a battered wayward rowboat thought he heard the playing of pipes. With the last strength left in him, he manned the oars and rowed towards the haunting, luring music.


	13. The Source of The Mysterious

**13. The Source of The Mysterious.**

Another dawn came to Neverland, and another breakfast time -- which meant another adventure, or two or three, were sure to take shape.

Michael jumped out of his hammock onto the bed below, roused his sister in the room next door, and went to breakfast. The twins were at it when he sat down, and their conversation didn't make sense to Michael. They seemed to be talking about Mrs. Ippy's source.

"Who's Mrs. Ippy?" asked Michael.

"It's a river, lad. We're talking rivers. It took great explorers to find the top end o' the Nile, and the Amazon, and probably the Thames too. We've got time and talent here, so we're going to follow a hunch and go looking up the source of the Mysterious River, the great waterway of Neverland."

"Why do they call it mysterious?" asked Michael.

"That's 'cos nobody knows where it comes from, exactly. It pops up on the plain below Pillow Hill. If it's from the lakes on Headboard Ridge and the hill, how does it get there? There's no waterfall from the lakes down to the river."

The other twin agreed. "It just... starts," he said, making a welling-up gesture with both hands.

"So how do you think it... starts?" said Michael, repeating the gesture.

"Mysteriously," said a twin.

"Yup, mysteriously," agreed the other. "But we think it might be underground caverns from the lakes. That would do it. So, now Peter's house is finished and we have some time for a holiday, we plan to find a cave over there, near where it... starts," gesturing again.

"We're off to spelunk!" said the first. "Haven't gone spelunking in years. Hopefully we won't get lost this time."

"Not to worry, mate. If we get lost, we'd only end up back here anyway, right?"

"Oo, right. Sounds like a plan, then. It'll be just like looking for the source of the Nile, only no crocodiles. Shall we?"

"We shall. I think we deserve it for our hard work."

A yawning Melicent had plopped down in a chair by the twins, eyes half-open. "Could I ask you a question, too?"

"You just did," answered a wide-awake twin. "So in my estimation, you could, yep."

"Oh. Well, could I ask another one?"

"You did, again," answered the other twin. "So it's yep again."

"So could I... oh. Um, I'm going to ask you a question."

"I'm sure you are," said one twin.. "You've asked two very good questions already. What's one more, as enlightening as the other two. Certainly. Go right ahead, dear."

"One thing was missing in Wendy's book. Since I came, I still haven't heard the answer. Could you tell me, please -- what are your names?"

The twins looked at each other. "Now there's a stumper. Bit of a long story to answerin' that, eh?" said one.

"Well, since she asked, I s'pose we should fill'er in," the other suggested.

"I s'pose there's nothin' for it. Tell her, in all its glory."

"Of course. Melicent, old girl, it's like this. We... were born.. identical... twins."

He paused, as though the question had been answered, and sipped his tea. The other twin nodded, sipping also.

"I got that part," she observed. "And...?"

"Ooh, and we were born in two different countries," said one.

"And in two different years," said the other.

They paused again, sipping tea, and nodding as though the matter was settled.

Michael, who enjoyed winding his sister up from time to time, watched amused as the twins did it without even fibbing, just pausing. He was studying at the feet of two masters of the art.

"Pardon?" said our sleepy heroine.

"What? Ooh, yes! Well, our parents were on holiday in France, and headin' home on the Weymouth steamer on New Year's Eve. It was a bouncy run for Mum."

"Yeah, very bouncy, with those waves and all. Poor Mum. So almost halfways across the channel, in French waters, I was born _before_ midnight..."

"And a half-hour later, in English waters, I was born _past_ midnight."

"Okay so far," said Melicent the not-a-twin.

"So I was born in France on 31 December 1872..."

"...and I was born in England on 1 January 1873."

Melicent, coming a little more awake, chuckled. "So that's why you were having cake and punch when I first met you! I'm late with it, but happy birthday!"

"Thank y', Missy." Another pause, more tea, more nodding.

"Um... about your names?"

"Ooh, yes. Well, here we were, identical twins, and yet, by birth we were as different as night and day."

"So when they went to name us, they named us --

".. Night..."

".. and Day. Does that answer your question?"

"Yes, thank you! Those are very nice names. Uh.. I'm almost afraid to ask, but what was your family name?"

"Tyme," they said together.

She laughed. "Night Tyme and Day Tyme! I love it! And how can I tell you apart next time I see you, so I call you by your proper names?"

"You can't," said one. "Even now, we're still identical."

"And we like it that way," said the other. "So do like everybody else. Just call us..."

"...the Twins," said both.

The others in the room were glad to play Confuse-a-Child too, which was always just for the fun of it. "Hmmm," said Tootles by the kitchen window. "Looks like it'll snow."

"Well, I'm certainly glad to hear that,"answered Nibs, munching. "Peter needs a wet cellar."

"Right. And I need another beehive. Good time for a snowstorm."

Melicent looked at them, blankly, and summed it up in one word. "Huh?"

Nibs turned. "Sorry. See that, will you? I've already forgotten you're new around here! The snow seems to follow the Vikings around the sea; don't know why. So if it snows around here, that means the Vikings are coming. So Tootles can get a beehive, and Peter can get a wet cellar."

More pausing and nodding. "Another huh?"

Tootles chuckled. "City kids! Okay, let's explain. I'm a baker. A beehive, for me, is a dome-shaped outdoor oven. I'd be able to make more bread and pies if I had another one. And a wet cellar is a place to store milk, butter and whatnot for a long time. Peter needs one for the new house, 'cos they hain't got ice boxes here, y'know. That's why the girls have to shop for fresh food every day. Now the Vikings know how to build some very nice stone chambers. Sooo..."

Melicent's eyes darted about as she thought it over. "So you'll just tell them where, and they'll build them for you?"

"Right," said Nibs. "Paying them helps, too."

"Well, the Vikings sound like very nice people, then."

"Don't be fooled, Melicent," said Tootles, getting serious. "There's more to them. They aren't nice all the time, and they aren't all real Vikings. Their leader is a mean one called Denny, and that's not his real name, if you ask me. While you think these "Vikings" are doing you something good, behind your back they're doing something underhanded. Oh, they're coming here for the fair, and they'll build us their little chambers, and it all sounds good, but you watch. In the end, we'll be sorry they came."

"What do they do that's bad?"

"Why, anything they please. You've read Wendy's book, have you? Then mind this: Many of us think their leader George Denny is actually James Hook, the one-time leader of the pirates!"

"That can't be. The book says Peter kicked Captain Hook into the crocodile's jaws, years ago."

"I know, I know, it sounds impossible. Then again, a lot of things here are impossible, aren't they? What if Hook fought his way out of those vengeful jaws, and is still here?"

"Wouldn't he be really old?" asked Michael.

"Wouldn't I be old? Wouldn't Wendy, and all of us? Wouldn't Peter? Michael, m'boy, they don't call it Neverland for nothing. Time is not so simple a thing around here. Yes, it could very well be Hook again. Watch 'im like a hawk."

-o-

So, as everybody headed off for their day, the twins went spelunking, Nibs and Tootles thought about stone chambers, and Melicent borrowed her little brother to help her set up shop at the fair.

As it was, the first sign she made was for her own booth. On their table at the fair, she put out her shingle, all by itself. Naturally, it said **SIGNS**. When passers-by asked what in the world it was, Michael told them. Meanwhile, Melicent made Tootles' **BAKERY** sign, with a drawing of his baker's hat, and they also displayed that. One man wanted to buy it just because it was so pretty and original, but he finally settled for one that said **CHANDLER**, which was what he was. She didn't know what a Chandler made, and asked him, then added a sketch of a candle.

She soon had to made a **PUB** (with a mug), a **SMITHY** (with an anvil), a **POTTERY** (with pots) and a **SHOES** (with a boot). There was a **PAPER** for Nibs (who also made paper for maps and pictures and wrapping fish'n'chips, but she didn't think a picture of a blank piece of paper would help), and several others for the shops in the village.

One proud farmer preferred to be known as an **AGRICULTURIST**. First she talked to Nibs, to be sure she spelt it right. Then too, it was so long it took two shingles, **AGRICUL** and **TURIST**, and she had to mark them on the back so he wouldn't put them up backwards.

Another fellow lived at the first door at the end of the road, and settled for a sign saying **1**. That set off a flurry of number sales. Some folks had to go home and count the houses from Number 1 to find out what number they were, as it had never really mattered before. Melicent ran to the village and mapped the street in a few minutes, which made the task easier. She was pleased to discover that Peter's new house would be Number 14, by happy coincidence.

Very few of the coins being used were Slightleigh's. Most were Neverland's simple tokens with a leaf on one side.

After a few hours, they ran out of leftover shingles. Melicent smiled at that; she knew exactly where to send Michael to fetch more, because she had sold one fellow both a **7** and a **SHINGLES** that morning, and had him on her map. The man brought an assortment of long and short ones, and said she could return any that weren't sold. He was very happy with this new use for his product. (He might have thanked Michael for turning his **SHINGLES** sign right-side-up, but he never noticed the difference.)

One man raised an good question for Melicent. He owned the vacant land at the end of the street -- that is, just beyond Number 1. He wondered what his number would be if he built a house on it.

That stopped Melicent for a minute. She could say Number 0. But, then, what would happen if another man came along who owned vacant land just beyond Number 0?

She thought about maps and signposts she had seen, and asked the man if he had a compass. He didn't, but went away and asked around. He finally borrowed one from a fisherman friend, then brought it to Melicent.

The compass only raised another question. She saw where the arrow pointed, and looked up at the late afternoon Sun. If this was correct, the compass pointed straight east -- or the Sun was going to set in the southeast in January. Neither possibility made sense. _I certainly am in Neverland!_ she thought.

She found the fisherman who owned the compass. He was no help, because he couldn't read the letters on the compass; he only knew that the needle pointed to their fishing buoy, and home was in the other direction.

Since Tootles was the most educated of the lost boys, she asked him. Judge Tootles wisely ruled that the Sun definitely rose the same way here that it did in England. If east was the direction the compass pointed, so be it; for his second unofficial ruling, he proclaimed that compasses point east in Neverland.

With that, Melicent was ready to make her first street sign. She took a long shingle to the road by number 1, saw that the compass was pointing up the street, and painted:

**«-West Road ---- East Road-»**

After putting it up on the proper side of the street, she returned the compass and informed the landowner that the village was _East_ Road, and his future house would be Number 1, _West_ Road. He was very happy at being Number 1 at something, rather than being nought or less than nothing, and bought a **1, West** sign for the vacant land to that effect.

-o-

The snow began gently in late morning, building to a localised rain-snow squall over the shoreline by mid-afternoon. Peter and the young boys knew when it was time. Bundling himself up in a warm blanket, Michael left Melicent and went with them to the stormy shore.

It was quite a show. The tide was high, rocking the pirate ship from side to side, wildly, and the floating docks heaved with every wave. But the most dramatic sight was offshore. A few miles out, bound directly towards them, a Viking ship climbed high and fell deep with each wave.

"The helmsman 'uld be swept off the deck in these seas," said one boy. "Bet they've got him lashed to the rail."

"If I was going to grow up," said another, "that's what I'd want to be. A Viking! Or a pirate, one of the two." "Yeah," agreed several. "They should be over the reef and anchoring soon," said the first, "and coming ashore for the fair and the pub. We can play Vikings and Pirates later! Maybe we can row out to see the ship tomorrow."

Michael nodded to all this, knew he'd be a Viking back home, if the toy shop in London had a set of Vikings for his birthday in March.

-o-

After only a few hours, Melicent's sign business had slowed up considerably, as almost everyone who could want a sign now had one. However, in late afternoon two Vikings finally arrived, the first off the ship to reach the fair. Among others, they were looking for the signmaker!

They asked for signs reading **GOKSTAD** and **DUCHESS**, but on wooden boards, much larger than a little shingle. Denny had written out the words (thank heavens!), and gave her the dimensions and colours, all of which impressed Melicent. She promised Michael would deliver them in a day or two.

"What's a Gokstad?" she wondered out loud.

"That's the name of their ship," answered her returning brother, who had waited to see the Vikings come ashore.

"Viking ships have name signs on them?"

"They will now! Maybe they saw your Lily Pad sign and got jealous." That referred to the boys' rowboat in the lagoon which now had a shingle reading **H.M.S. LILY PAD** (with a picture of a frog) on the stern.

"Then, what's Duchess?"

"That's the old pirate ship."

"But that's not his ship. Why would he want to put a sign on it?"

"Don't know."

We'll find out, won't we? But first, the Duchess has another role to play, and the story was unfolding at that very minute.

The snow had let up, and it was a bright day again. Peter and the boys were on the deck of the Duchess, swinging from the ropes and pretend-dueling. It was the Vikings versus the Pirates, and the battle went back and forth, until a boy noticed something odd off shore, and everything came to a halt.

It was a rowboat, adrift... and it looked like someone was slumped inside.

Our lost oarsman had become another foundling in Neverland.


	14. Home From The Sea

**14. Home From The Sea.**

An adventure! Peter, the only flyer among them, went out to check. Some boys dove off the deck to get the good ship Lily Pad underway to help him; another began swimming for shore to tell the village what they had seen.

After several minutes, word had spread to the fair, and Melicent and Michael closed down their table for the day to go see.

Peter and the boys had managed to bring the rowboat and its occupant alongside the Duchess, and were trying to lift him. Peter and the Darling duo were able to fly him to the deck.

Melicent found the unconscious young fellow intriguing. He was older, perhaps in his early teens, and dressed for winter weather. _And handsome_, she admitted to herself.

"I'll ask the fairies to bring out the nurse's daycloth," said Peter. "It will take a while."

"Is there a doctor I can bring?" asked Melicent.

"No, but the shaman might know how he is, and perhaps cast a spell to help him until the nurse arrives."

"Um... a shaman, you said?"

"He's with the Indians, in the highlands. Their camp is beyond the tallest hill. See Tiger Lily."

-o-

Melicent flew off hurriedly on her mission, whispering her own private prayer for the boy's health.

The "tallest hill" was easy enough to spot; just beyond were cultivated fields, and a substantial gathering of wigwams clad in bark, surrounding several longhouses.

She landed at the edge of the camp and walked in, uncertain of what to do next. A few inhabitants were about, but none looked like the energised Indian princess Wendy had described in the book -- until she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, and turned. Melicent was immediately sure she had found her.

"You're Tiger Lily."

"Yes. And you're a Darling, from Peter's lodge," said the dark, beautiful lady in soft hide garments.

"Yes! I'm Melicent... but how did you know?"

"You dress from the trees, as he does, and your eyes are the pretty eyes of the storyteller-women! Why did you come?"

"A boy is ill. Peter thought the shaman could help him until the nurse comes."

"I'll take you to him."

Tiger Lily led her across the camp towards an isolated domed hut. A thin column of blue smoke rose from an opening in the roof. "He is old, and his eyes are weak. Let him speak first, and he will tell us what his heart sees."

They stepped through hide curtains into the hut, lit only by a dim glow of embers. An elderly man, wrapt in heavy robes despite the warmth of the day, sat staring into the remains of the fire. He looked up at his visitors for a long time before addressing them.

"I see a sturdy she-deer, and a prancing baby she-deer. Sit, and tell me what my eyes should see."

"It's Tiger Lily, old one, and I bring you Melicent the storyteller."

"She glows so brightly with life, she lights the walls! But she has brought fear in a basket. Open it, and show me your fear, girl."

"Sir," said Melicent, "a boy is ill in the village, and I was sent to see you."

He fell silent and stirred the fire, watching the sparks that rose. His stick drew marks in the sand, and he scattered ashes over it. After a minute, he looked up again.

"The boy is not ill. He has been on his vision quest."

"I'm sorry. I don't understand."

"His tribe are huntsmen who roam the water-plains. He is a young man of the Waters; the Waters put him in a cloud to find his vision. He was lost until he heard your song. He could have turned away, afraid that it was false, but he chose to follow it out of the cloud. He will waken, and walk the earth, and follow your song. The happy day will come when he will walk with you."

"Thank you, but I'm sure it won't take days. We'll all get him on his feet as soon as he's awake."

"Ha, girl! You seek my advice for the moment, but miss what I say for the morrow. My words mean this: If you travel the same path, a man can walk ahead of you, or behind you, or with you. When this boy is a man, and you are a woman, he will walk with you."

_What in the world does he mean?_ she wondered.

"Go now," he said, smiling reassuredly. "Your basket of fear is emptied; your heart is at peace."

-o-

Melicent thanked Tiger Lily, and returned to the ship. They still awaited the nurse. The boy was resting comfortably; he had briefly awakened, and Wendy had fed him a few sips of a warm broth, which he seemed to appreciate. They determined his name was Edward. Now, he slept again.

"Okay, Peter, the shaman knows about him," said Melicent. "I'm going to go home now; Jane will need me to prepare for supper."

"Alright. Did the shaman have anything to say?" asked Peter.

"He said the boy isn't ill, but the waters had sent him on a quest, and he heard my song and decided to come out of his cloud, and now he'll be alright, and we'll walk together some day."

Peter looked up at her for a moment, then smiled. "That's a _beautiful_ story, and such a _happy_ ending!"

"I'm not even sure what it means, exactly. Maybe you understand the shaman better than I do."

"Oh, yes! And I do hope he tells me a story that _happy_ some day!"


	15. The Light of The NotABat

**15. The Light of the Not-A-Bat.**

Michael stopped by the kitchen, delivering milk from Curly for the evening meal. He had a question for his sister, who was already helping to tidy up.

"Did you get anything today?"

"No, silly, of course not."

"You didn't even tell them, did you?"

"Hush."

"Why don't you want them to know?"

"I don't want any fuss, and we have enough to worry about right now. So just hush."

Jane couldn't resist. "Go ahead, Michael, spill the beans. Is there some juicy dirt we should know about Melicent?"

"Yep."

"Out with it, then."

Melicent tried again. "Michael, I'm warning you.." But it was to no avail.

"You're always warning me. It's nothing; it's just Melicent's over the hill. It's her big fat round birthday."

"Just a birthday?" said Jane. "Hey, kiddo, we don't get to celebrate many just-a-birthdays around here, especially big round ones! Congratulations, and many more. What are you up to, twenty? Fifty? Ninety?"

"Ten," confessed the now-ancient, two-digit-aged Melicent. "Really, it's no big thing. I still have three years to go to even be a teenager."

"She's got boyfriends already," gossiped Michael.

"Michael! I do not!"

"Yeah? And what do you call Peter and Edward?"

Jane loved it. "Oh, does she have something going with Edward too? Quick work, Melicent!"

"What do you mean 'Edward too'? You're both winding me up. I'm not Peter's gilrfriend."

"Oh, Peter will be so disappointed. So, it's just Edward now?" teased Jane, while disarming Melicent from attacking Michael with a spatula.

"See what you started?"

"Gee," said Michael, continuing the tease as he left the kitchen. "A kid can't even wish his sister a happy birthday any more."

Jane soothed Melicent's irritation with a quick hug. "Happy birthday, honey. And don't mind him. I get the feeling he's glad you're his big sister, and that's alright -- even if it means he gets to push your button once in a while."

"The little runt. Always going on about my boyfriends."

"This is nothing. Wait 'til you really have them; then, he'll be in his glory! But your time will come, too -- when he's old enough, and the first curly-haired little cupie-doll smiles at him."

"Oh, I'll be on his case every day!"

"Good girl."

"Jane, how come only the girls of the family get called back here when they get older? Don't the boys in Neverland need fathers, too?"

"Of course. But now, with the lost boys having aged a few years while in England, they're more a father's age. There are a lot of the gypsies who never bother getting daycloths until they get older."

"But, for all these boys, no one is ever just... a father."

"One was," said Jane. "My daughter Margaret and her husband Albert were both here for many, many years. It was the only time we had both a Darling mother and father."

"But I thought... never mind."

"What is it?"

"I was just thinking of something I read about him. Wasn't he 'A.S. Dowell, RAF'?"

"Yes. Royal Air Force, during the war. Are you hesitating because you saw it on her tombstone? I thought so. It's all right; I was there at the time. You're wondering how they could be together here if he died in the war?"

"Yes."

"The stone doesn't actually say he died, does it?"

"It says he was lost at sea... oh! Are you saying he was lost, and..."

"And found his way here just like Edward, washing up in a rubber raft. In the war years, we had several young aviators and sailors wash up here, and more than a few young women in rowboats escaping something or other. That's where most of our 'gypsies' come from! When we found out who Albert was, it was a choice between returning him to England or bringing Margaret to Neverland. She came to see him, of course. But time is an odd thing around here; lost time doesn't always agree with back-at-home time. He thought he had been at sea about three days. At home, he had been gone several years. The children were in school, and Margaret had to tend them; it would be hard to explain Albert's return after so long! They decided to let time continue its course.

"He stayed in Neverland; they met here each year, and their two children, Peter and Belle, were reunited with their father once they started coming. Albert refused a daycloth;.he aged here as Margaret did in London. Then after child-rearing was past her, Margaret came here. For a while, she had hopes that her son Peter would turn up in Neverland; they lost him when he was just 12 -- fell into an icy river, the poor kid -- but he never turned up. Margaret and Albert had long lives together, taking good loving care of all the boys like they were their own. Again we offered them daycloths, but they refused, happy to be as they were."

"How sad." said Melicent, "that they had to stay apart all that time. But then, they must have died. Is she really buried in Dappling?"

"No, they're in Neverland. But so few folks die here, we don't mark their passing with cemeteries and gravestones. Before you leave, look at Headboard Ridge, where the sun sets in the winter, and you'll see two oaks -- side by side, all by themselves, straight and proud, growing old together. Those trees are family, Melicent."

-o-

With a good whiff of a particularly pungent mint from the fairies' garden, Neverland's latest immigrant stirred and shook his head.

The nurse, looking not much older than her patient, calmed him with a smile, and gentle hands on his shoulders. "Relax, lad. You're safely back in port. You made it through."

"I thought it was up with me for sure. The waves were so high! I had all I could do to bail. And it was so incredibly cold. The waves..."

"Easy. It's all over. What's your name?"

"Edward. Edward Hest. I'm out of Heston. I should let my uncle know."

"You'll see him soon enough. Where is Heston?"

"Why, on St. Ives, near... wait a minute. Why is it so warm? Where am I? How far did I drift?"

"I'm not sure exactly, but quite a ways. As to where you are, that's a bit of a story, and I think we'll hold it for now. I'm the closest they have to a nurse here; they brought me to check you over. Then, we'll get you on land for rest and a warm meal or two, and we'll get you home. Are you in one piece?"

"As far as I know. No pains, just tired something awful. They fed me warm broth... "

"Your head and limbs look okay. Just a lot of exposure to the weather, and you might have rope burns here; I'll put a salve on that. Lashed yourself down loosely, did you? Good thinking. Any other sore spots to be worked on?"

"No, I'm alright. A real bed on solid land would feel very good."

"I agree. Peter, get a pallet and have the boys lower him over the side, and row him in. No aerial acrobatics, if you please; one shock at a time. Can you put him up at your house?"

"Yes, sure."

"Good. See you at dinner, then."

Once they reached shore, Edward was put on a small cart and gently trundled to Peter's house, the slightly bumpy ride rocking him back to sleep.

The young nurse didn't escape her post so easily! In fact, she was sitting on the hatch cover for another hour, because the remaining boys pestered her to tell stories and sing songs with them. All girls told lots of stories, didn't they? Knowing the therapeutic value of story-telling, she accommodated them.

Thus it was that she and a crowd of boys were deep into the Arabian Nights when the Vikings came silently aboard.

-o-

"Peter! What are you doing!"

"Oh, Wendy, be patient with me. He's heavy, but I'll have him up there in no time. I just have to lift him a little ways, and..."

"Edward will sleep on the _bed_, Peter, not some mid-air _hammock!"_

"But if he's on the bed, how can the boys jump down in the morning?"

"They won't. They'll _climb _down, handsome. They climb up, don't they?"

"Oh."

-o-

Everybody stayed at the table after dinner, as requested, and applauded Peter as he rose to speak.

"I guess we can't wait for the twins or anybody else to show up, so we'll get to it. Ahem. We had a busy day, but can't leave yet, because first, somebody wants to grow a year older. So all Neverland hereby gives her permission to do so, and wishes our new storyteller, Melicent, a very happy_ tenth_ birthday!"

The table candles were put out, leaving the room in darkness for Tootles to make his grand entrance, wearing his tall baker's hat and carrying a great lovely cake with ten candles that roused everyone to more applause and comment.

"Wow!" said Michael to his sister. "It's like a forest fire, sis! It's so bright it lights up the walls and everything!"

Melicent could only think that the shaman had said much the same words that afternoon. _If he saw my birthday cake coming, _she thought, _then maybe the rest is going to happen too, and Edward is really going to hear my song, and walk with me someday -- whatever all that means. I wish I knew! I really wish I find out before I go home._ And with that, she blew out her candles, and with official permission of the boy who wouldn't grow up, became ten.


	16. Rumours and Boarders

**16. Rumours and Boarders.**

"Fascinating cave, mate!" said the first twin. "We'll have to come back and look at all these side pockets. Not much of a challenge to get around on the main road, tho, is it?"

"Can't get lost, for sure," said the other. "Can't bump your head when the ceiling's a few hundred feet up. Hard to believe nobody knew about it all these years."

They were only a yard apart, but they had to shout to be heard over the din of the five cascades of Mysterious Falls, as they called it, deep inside the hill and its ridge.

In a side cave, shadowy figures heard the noisy twins and knew the game was up. Their hiding place was no longer a secret from the Neverlanders. Their leader nodded and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. They began to remove their booty.

On the back side of the ridge, where coral reefs extended into the sea, Neverland's sailors never chanced to venture. There, hidden behind brush and canvas was another cave entrance. In the middle of the night, men pushed the camouflage aside and carried out two rowboats. Others began loading them with all sorts of items; some things had been bought at the fair, and other things just hadn't been missed yet. It had been a very profitable voyage.

The leader stepped outside to observe the loading. His costume, beard and broadsword would tell you he was George Denny, head of the Vikings, and that will do if it pleases you. To a Neverland old-timer, the swagger, the sneer and the conniving laugh would tell you he was someone else. If so, his evil ways had not changed.

Once the booty had been quietly ferried to the Gokstad, the rowboats returned for their human load.

For days now, in the confusion of the fair, a few young people had gone missing: a village boy here, a gypsy girl there; a crusader boy now, an Indian girl then. Who would notice? It was a peaceful big island, where any child might go off on an adventure, and return in a day or three; nothing to fuss about --

-- unless they had been captured and gagged, then nailed in a keg, or rolled up in a rug, or put in a sack, and toted off from the fairgrounds by Denny's men, to be hidden in the caves. Aye, this load would fetch a good price in markets across the sea, then live the forlorn life of slaves and servants!

The prisoners, tied together lest any flyers escape, were rowed to the Duchess, hoisted aboard like a load of fish and dumped on the main deck. Denny came aboard, roused the drunken crewmen, and examined each youth in the line, looking for anyone familiar --

-- and found one. "Well, Dickenson!" said the captain. "How long it's been! Haven't aged a day, have you?"

The prisoner answered with something very insulting, but fortunately for all the little ears listening, the gag muffled it.

"Dickenson, why are you angry? There was a time when you loved the sea, and ships, and adventure. That's why you decided to be a pirate! Do your friends know you used to be a pirate? Oh, it was only for a few days. Then you changed your ways, and went with that insufferable Peter Pan and his lot. But you could have been a pirate -- or a Viking!"

Denny took out his sword.

"Do you like that bilge of a life ashore? Or do you ever long for the old days -- the adventure, the action --"

Denny took his other hand out of his oversized pocket. Or, rather, took out the arm that ended in a large, polished _hook._ Since this hook had last been seen in Neverland, its cuff had been inlaid with crocodile hide.

" -- and the danger that might cost you -- a limb!"

With that, Denny plunged his sword towards Dickinson's feet. Dickinson leapt straight up, and stayed in the air just a smidgen too long. The ropes still kept him from leaving, and his secret was out.

"Ah, I thought so! You're a flyer, as well! You always admired that in Peter Pan, didn't you? Can't have prisoners flying around a cell or escaping. Skrael!"

A fat, drunk, and very dodgy Viking came forward. "Aye, captain?"

"Let's celebrate their arrival. Break out a round of grog -- no, pirate's rum! --and give it to all our guests here, especially this one."

Now, dear Readers, some of you have that puzzled look. Think back to New Year's Eve; we said then that Michael was lucky to have sipped only ordinary egg nog from his father's cup, or he might not have flown that night. "Denny" is giving the lot a sip of rum to clip the wings of any flyers among them.

"And when you're through, heave 'em all below with the others. We've got work to do."

-o-

Breakfast at the Pan house started with a cheerful, if confusing, act of giving. Other than the fine cake, her only present was from Michael -- a shingle, now tacked on the wall over of her bed reading **MELICENT**, with a pretty yellow flower. (For once, he had called her by her full name.)

"I have a gift for your birthday," said Peter.

"Why, how thoughtful of you!" said old Melicent. "What is it?"

"It's a secret. A wonderful secret."

"Really! What's the secret?"

"I can't tell you. It wouldn't be a secret, then."

"Oh. Are you ever going to tell me?"

"Sometime. But all I can tell you right now is that it's a secret."

"Well, then it's a very well-kept secret, so I'm sure it's a wonderful secret, Peter. And it's exactly my size, and my favourite colour, so I won't have to exchange it. Thank you for that."

"You're welcome. I knew you'd like it."

-o-

After Peter and the boys had left for the day, there was more breakfast adventure -- Edward's stormy tale. A simple trip across the bay, from town to his uncle's fishery dock, had gone terribly wrong.

"I rowed across St. Ives in the morning, and it was easy going. I was returning -- not all that far, but the storm arrived sooner and meaner than anyone expected. The wind came up over Land's End and hit me. As hard as I rowed, I was drifting out to sea. I had no choice but to let the storm take me, or I'd have been exhausted in no time."

"Well, you're safe now, so relax and get your strength back."

"I imagine I'll have a long row home. Where am I, anyway? The nurse wouldn't tell me."

Jane smiled. "You're so far away, Edward, that I think you'll be leaving your boat here and flying home."

"But I have no money for that. And I should ring up my uncle and aunt! They'll be worried to death."

"Rest easy. Around here, it costs us nothing to fly. Your family will be glad to see you. Ah... I should ask, what day did you leave?"

He looked puzzled. "Tuesday -- the 7th."

Jane looked up at Melicent, who answered her question before she asked it. "Not good. Today's the 4th."

Jane tried again. "Edward, what month? And what year?"

"Huh?" When he saw they were serious, he said "January, 2002."

"Edward, where I come from, it's January 2003," Melicent quietly pointed out, instantly thinking he'd been gone a year.

"Oh, I'm sorry! You're right!" corrected Edward. "New Year and all. 2003. Not used to it yet. Sorry."

Melicent smiled in relief. "Then it's okay. Still, it's odd though -- it won't be the 7th in Britain for 3 days. You've arrived here before you left home!"

"Whoa!" said Edward.

"Hm?" asked Jane.

"He means he likes it -- sort of," translated Melicent for the umpteenth time.

"Well, it _is_ a new twist in arrival times," said Jane. "Relax, enjoy yourself, and with a few days' head start, we'll get you home so promptly that they'll hardly know you were gone."

Edward was in a dither. "Alright, I'm confused. I can't be across the Date Line. Where am I?"

The girls exchanged some very conniving glances, more of that girl-to-girl telepathy stuff. Melicent crossed her wrists and made a little wing-waving motion with her hands. Jane nodded, went to a high shelf and took down a jar. Opening it, she poured a little of its contents in Melicent's hand -- the luminescent dust she had sprinkled on Melicent and her brother in London. It was warm to the touch.

Melicent took hold of his hand and tugged him towards the door. "Come on. I'll give you a tour and explain it all. First, to make it easy, I'll show you the way this mad household likes to travel."

"Sorry?"

_It's funny,_ thought Melicent, backing out the door with Edward in tow. _More than once, I used to dream a handsome boy was going to say something like this to me, and take me away to a magical land. Now, I have to say it to the boy, instead!_

"Edward, it's time you learnt to fly."


	17. Fester and The Dragons

**17. Fester and the Dragons.**

After Edward's introductory flight over Neverland, he couldn't see enough of it. Melicent left him at the fair to absorb it all, while she flew back to Peter's house to absorb a sandwich and soup.

She was still on about her present at breakfast. "Peter gave me a secret -- but it's so secret it couldn't tell me what it was."

Wendy and Jane exchanged glances. "We heard," said Jane. "But then, we also know what the secret is."

"And are you going to tell me?"

"Nope," said Jane.

"Is this a conspiracy?"

"Yep," said Wendy, laughing.

"And when am I going to find out?"

"When Peter wants to tell you -- or when the secret is right in front of you."

-o-

In early afternoon, Melicent wandered into the _Town Crier_ with a question.

"Nibs, the boys keep asking for stories, and I've just about run out. Do you have any books?"

"Oh, I wish I did. To sit up in bed and read a good rippin' adventure before going to sleep -- I miss that. But no, I hain't got a book. I save every scrap of printing I find, and everything that turns up at the fair each year, but whole books -- none. You'd think at least one of the newcomers 'uld have a book in their pocket! Nah. That's why I love to have you storytellers come and give the boys something to hear."

Melicent nodded. "I'll have to remember to bring my little-kid picture books and ABC books next time. That will help anybody who wants to learn to read, and maybe they'll write books here! So what scraps have you found?"

Nibs opened a small trunk and began showing off his meagre collection. "Well, here's a few postcards with nice pictures of snowy scenes and smiling Laplanders, except all the messages are in Swedish. Here's a German pamphlet entitled 'Fester Funkdienst uber Satelliten', and I hoped it was a nice Jules Verne type story, but Helmut at the pub tells me it's just some dry piece about the wireless. Here's a list of movies showing at the Ravendale Cinema in October 1932, and here's an addie for some French tyres, instructions in three languages on operating a toaster, a clothing tag reading 'slightly soiled', a Aer Lingus thing that I'm told is called a 'barf bag', a parchment scroll of seemingly great antiquity that I can't read at all, Entick's schedule of town fairs in England in 1792, a takeaway's fish-and-chips wrapper, a... well, you get the idea. All the trappings of modern man, and not a story in any of them. I guess people back home can't read because they just don't."

"And here, they don't read because they just can't," observed Melicent. "Well, we all read at home, and Michael and I will have to bring all the spare books we can carry each time -- or maybe Peter can bring a few flyers to carry them. I'm sorry I can't bring a printing press for you, but that's more than too much to fly here."

"That new fellow, Edward, looks strong; maybe he can find a small, light typewriter. That would do nicely. He could even attach a helium balloon to lighten the load."

"Then you could type instructions on operating a typewriter -- in three languages -- and help the boys to write. Why, you're going to need a library if that works!"

"Make it happen and I'm sure they'll give you the first card, Milly. But, for now, you'll have to make up your own stories."

"And all I have to go by is my memory and your scrap box..."

-o-

"So what's the bedtime story tonight, Melicent?" asked one of the boys.

"Well, I've told all my good stories, so I've had to make one up."

"It's not going to get you in trouble, is it?" said a boy. "One time, Wendy wanted to know where the cookies went, and I made up a story, and I got in trouble."

"No," chuckled Melicent. "It's perfectly alright to make up a story -- as long as everybody knows it's just a story."

"Oh."

"So anyways, my story might have some holes in it where the mice ate the bottom of the pages, so you can help me make up a story to fill in the blanks. My story is 'Fester Funkdienst and the Dragons of Icklibogg,' and it's about magic, and Laplanders, and satellites, and fairs, and toasters, and tyres, and fish'n'chips, and an old parchment scroll, and just about anything you could think about -- and dragons, of course."

"Of course!"

"Then let's be off. Fester Funkdienst is a magician, and he has a magic shop in a little village like this one. It's hard to find, so it helps to remember that it's right next door to --- ?"

"Peter's house!" said one. "A fish'n'chips!" said another. "Lapland!" said a third.

"You're close," she said. "it was a tyre shop, and he helped the tyre repairman by making flat tyres round again with magic. And Fester had a pet dragon that he brought home from --- ?"

"Icky.. whatever-you-said!"

"Right! Icklibogg, which is a bog, but it's really, really ickly. And the pet's name was ---?"

All the boys shouted their own names.

"Did anybody say Penelope?"

"Penelope!" said several.

"That's right! How did you guess? And Penelope and Fester liked toast for breakfast, so they made toast with ---?"

"A toaster!" shouted one who actually knew what a toaster was.

"No, the toaster comes later. They didn't need a toaster, because dragons breathe fire, so Penelope made the toast herself every morning before Fester got up. So, one sunny day.."

Well, it was quite a confused story by the time Fester saved the Laplanders' very expensive rare scroll from being burned up by the death ray from the satellite by using magic to turn a toaster into a wireless and telling an Aer Lingus pilot to fly his shiny aeroplane underneath the ray and reflect it harmlessly off the shiny scales on Penelope's belly, so the ray bounced down onto the bad guy's hideout in the Ravendale Cinema, burning the building down and... oh, please don't ask me to repeat it all, as it never makes sense to me when I think of it. If Nibs had saved a rail pass, or a funny bookmark, or a catsup label, they would have been in Melicent's story too.

Afterwards, Melicent and Michael went around saying their g'nights, while the young boys went off to bed still giggling and making silly things up, which is okay at bedtime. Edward got the word about the bed's true use as a trampoline and gladly took a spare hammock so the boys could jump down tomorrow.

Peter was a bit surprised there were any hammocks to spare. The first day, there had been none. Now, there were three! A few boys must be sleeping somewheres else. "Odd," he shrugged, but promptly chose to forget about it, and snuffed out the bedroom candles.


	18. The Gokstad and The Duchess

**18. The Gokstad and the Duchess.**

The ship signs for the Vikings were most impressive. Curly was good with whittling and woodwork, and had helped Melicent chisel the names in large Neverwood boards before she finished them in black with gold lettering. Just looking at them convinced Michael that he was much too little to carry anything so long and thick to the Gokstad.

"Neverwood isn't heavy, Michael. Come on, believe and try."

He tried, and easily lifted both boards at once. They were as light as balsa, but sturdy. "Oh! Okay, no problem. After that, I'll be off, hiking or something. Don't know for sure what I'll be doing today."

"Have fun, shortie."

"Of course I'll have fun! Later, sis."

-o-

The Vikings weren't exactly sure what their leader wanted done with the signs, so Michael pointed to the shingle on the Lily Pad, and then they understood. He reckoned he should help them, or they might mount the signs upside down, or on the wrong ship.

They came up with a hammer and some nails. He tacked the **GOKSTAD** sign on the Viking ship, then flew the **DUCHESS **sign to the poop deck of the pirate ship. There, he nailed the sign at the top of the stern.

A fat, dodgy Viking came out the cabin to see what all the pounding was.

"You! Bilge rat! What're ya doin'?"

"Putting up your sign," said Michael. If he had left at that point, everything would have been fine. But, no. "And I'm not a bilge rat," he added.

"Come down here an' talk ta me, shrimp!"

Michael, who preferred being called Michael and nothing else, thought he was only doing his job and didn't deserve this. He took the bait, and went to the Viking.

"Look, all I'm doing is putting up the sign you lot wanted. Your captain, or whatever, asked for it. It's up. What's your problem?"

"Then, see the captain inside, runt." He opened the cabin door and ushered Michael in.

Denny looked up. "All that noise is just this little kid, Skrael?"

"Says he puttin' up a sign fer ya, captain. Achin' fer a fight, he is."

"I didn't start it," argued Michael.

"And what are you going to do now, boy?" asked Denny.

"I'm done. I'm leaving."

"Oh, don't leave now. There's adventure on a pirate ship. Just imagine when we put out to sea on this old beauty, with full sails set -- what a fine sight she'll be!"

"If it doesn't sink! It's just a rotten old boat that hasn't moved in a hundred years."

"Ah, but it had a glorious past, did it not?"

"What past? It had some dopey captain with a hook for a hand, and Peter killed him handily. Threw him to the crocodiles."

"And what if James Hook were around to throw _you_ to a crocodile, eh?" With that, he took his other arm out of the oversized pocket --

With a great shiny hook inches from his face, Michael decided it was time to leave. He tried flying straight up to get above their reach -- but didn't go very far. He had forgotten about the low ceilings on board. "Ow!" he yelled, after banging his head on a beam. They grabbed him by the ankles and pulled him down, laughing at him.

"Oh, we have another flyer, do we? We'll fix that soon enough. Slip him a sip o' grog, Skrael, and heave him in the hold with the rest of his kind, where no one'll hear'im."

Michael struggled, but they forced the grog down his throat. In a minute or two, the power of the fairy dust was gone. They took him out on deck, cracked open the hatch cover and pitched him down to the straw-covered prison deck. He landed with a crash.

"Ooh. That must have hurt," said a boy in the dim light.

"No, I'm fine," fibbed Michael. "They can't hurt me." In truth, he ached all over now, and wanted to barf up the grog. He untangled himself, standing up unsteadily, and thoroughly embarrassed to be treated like that in front of others.

The boy didn't believe Michael's bravado. "Yeah. C'mon, mate, I'll take you to our nurse. She'll do you right."

There was very little light on this crowded deck, other than what crept through cracks in the ceiling and the cannoneers' peepholes. The nurse, whose practise had moved from the main deck to a tiny room off the cannon room floor, looked barely old enough to have the job. She spread a newspaper on a filthy bench and sat with our battered little hero. "And what's the matter with you, young fellow?"

Michael, totally glum, looked at the floor. "Nothing," he fibbed.

"Or everything?"

That seemed closer to the truth. "Yeah."

"What's your name?"

"Michael."

"Michael. You look like one of the storyteller family."

"Yeah."

"Are you badly hurt anywheres?"

"No."

"Cut?

"No."

"Going to have a few bruises tomorrow?"

Michael thought that one over. "Yeah."

"Let's check you out top to bottom, then. Hmmm. At first glance, you seem to have everything in normal quantity. Head, one of, attached on shoulders... hmmm, rattles a bit, still too empty... if you're just a visitor here, school will take care of that. A bump on top, but that will go away. Needs a haircut soon, too. Tsk, grog breath; shame on you, at your age. All fingers and toes in place, so you can still count to 20. No bones broken, or you'd know it. The rest of you is still in one piece, more or less. Hmmm. Since you're still young, I'd say it's the usual. Yep. The problem lies in your bottom."

Michael didn't think so. "I didn't fall on my bottom."

"Nevertheless it's a very common problem area among boys in Neverland. Apparently, your bottom hasn't sat in a proper mother's lap for enough hours. No wonder we need more mothers here later on"

"Why does that matter?"

"Oh, lap-time deprivation causes all sorts of physical maladies. Someday, you might have your back up, or your nose out of joint, or you'll find yourself hard-headed. Or, your mouth might say things it shouldn't, or your eyes will wander, or your feet will stray. A lot of that's due to lap-time deprivation, y'know. Awful, really. A mother's lap, if applied in a timely manner, could prevent all that. Now this is a field hospital; we have to make do here, so I'll lend you mine for a quick fix-up. Come on, hop on board."

"I'm not a baby. I'm too big for that."

"Oh, let's just try it for a minute anyway. Here we go -- my, you're heavy, must be eating well -- there! Isn't that comfy?"

"Yeah, sort of."

"Y'know, long before I came here to be a nurse, when I was smaller than you, I had a Mum. She used to prescribe her lap for all sorts of ailments -- the Rainy-Day Pout, the Don't-Wanna Grumble, The Not-Now Gloom, the Leave-Me-Alone Whinies. She used to sway me from side to side. Sometimes she'd even sing to me. Has a Mum ever sung for you?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's a good start. A Mum's songs are the best. Mine sang to me --

_Be good and be cheerful, laughing on your way,  
Nothing could be happier ..."_

"That was my Mum's song, too."

"It has curative powers, shortie."

"Hey. Don't call me shortie."  
"Why not? You don't mind when your sister calls you that, when she thinks no one can hear her!"

Michael finally turned to look at his nurse, and... but, we'll let him tell us all about it later.

-o-

At the house, Melicent tried to fall sleep, but only tossed restlessly. She thought of all she had seen on the island, and how many places Michael might have gone off to visit. _Where was he? He delivered the signs -- and then what? Gone to sea with the fishermen or the vikings, or swimming, or spelunking, or dancing with the gypsies, or marching with the crusaders, or camping with the Indians..._

_... or did he go hunting on his own? _Could he have foolishly done it again... and the tigress hunted him down? Had she made a mistake in not telling him what she had gone through to save his life?

_Oh, why didn't he tell me where he was going? I wrote in the book that I'd take care of him, and now I've lost him!_

Wherever he was, her little 7-year-old brother was on his own in that strange world outside her window.

"G'night, shortie," she whispered to herself, tearfully.


	19. The Little White Bird

**19. The Little White Bird.**

Shortly after sunrise, Horace Bim walked into his foyer and looked up his window.

Now you would usually "look _out_ a window", or "_in_ a window," but Mr. Bim always looked _up_ his, or _down_ his. You might remember his house; Melicent saw it when she first walked down the village street. The house was underground, so the door and windows were in the ceiling, and lying flat on the lawn, surrounded by grass. The house still displayed an arrow pointing straight down, as it always had, but now the arrow was on a fresh new shingle sign reading **26**.

Such a design was not as impractical as it seems. To tell the truth, when I look _out _a window, it's usually to look _up _at the sky to check the weather; I can never see enough sky at first glance, and have to crane and twist my neck to peer at more of it! Mr. Bim's windows had an excellent view of the sky, thank you, and were washed whenever it rained, or whenever he watered his flower boxes. He never had to paint the outside; if the house had a shabby appearance, he knew it was time to borrow a sheep to trim the grass. Fortunately, the sheep always stuck to their task, and had never strayed across his windows.

So, as I was saying, Horace looked _up_ his window, and found the sky was very blue. He walked _up_ his front door, stretched, and breathed the morning air deeply. "Lovely day, today. A nice, peaceful, quiet day. A fine nothing-out-of-the-ordinary day!"

Whereupon, a little white bird landed on the brim of his hat, dangling something directly in front of his face.

He looked at the something cross-eyed, and blew at it; it spun around, but wouldn't go away. Bim carefully took his hat off and looked at this intruder. "Hullo-- what've you got there, lassie?" It seemed the bird was hobbling about because of a bit of string caught on one leg, dragging a sizable scrap of paper.

"Tsk. Y'need a proper-sized pigeon for that. Here the whole blinkin' highlands are infested with the world's supply of passenger pigeons, an' somebody ties a note on a wee birdie? Hope it was important. We'll have ya free in a second, girl.... there! All free again. Stop at the feeder an' munch awhile for yer trouble. Got some nice fresh seed for ya today."

The bird may not have understood Bim, but knew an easy meal when she saw it, and dashed for the feeder. Meanwhile, Bim sat down in his lawn chair, unwrapped the string and opened the paper. It was indeed a note.

He peered around behind his chair to talk to the munching bird. "Ooh, thet's nice neat writin' in here, this is. An' did ya bring it to me because I've got the fine sign out front? Figgered I could read, did ya? Hope it's not a love note to me from a certain pretty Indian maiden, 'cos I can't read a word of it!"

He tost it away -- then, had second thoughts. He peered at the feeder again. "Did ya want me to take it to somebody who can read it? I mean, I can't do much else with it meself! Oh, okay, I suppose, okay, okay. I'm off."

It was a short walk down the street to the bakery. Bim, being a friendly sort, greeted Tootles and chatted a bit, taking several minutes to get around to his reason for being there.

He finally handed over the note, which Tootles uncrumpled to read:

MICHAEL DARLING A PRISONER  
ON DUCHESS. NEEDS DUST. IN  
ARTILLERY ROOM, 1 DOWN. TRY  
STICKY LID ON CANNON HOLE  
TO PORT. CREW DRUNK NIGHTLY.

A bit cryptic, but it got his attention! As if that were not enough, one final line was another eye-opener:

THEY PLAN TO KILL PETER.

Tootles gave Bim a freshly-baked loaf in thanks, shut down his ovens and left on the run for Peter's house.

-o-

"It sounds like a ship, but Viking ships don't have cannons."

"Duchess is the pirate ship," answered Melicent, very relieved to know where Michael was. "They had me make a sign for it."

"Oh?" said Nibs. "We called it the Jolly Roger in our day. Ooh. Then it makes a lot of sense. They're taking prisoners, and keeping them aboard Hook's old ship. I think I know what the rest means, but better take a look at her first. Let's run it up the yardarm, Toot!" Nibs and Tootles clambered up the apple tree as easily as if they had climbed it all their lives -- which they had. Melicent decided flying would be less wear and tear on her leaf dress than climbing, and hovered alongside.

In only a minute, Nibs had his spyglass out and aimed at '1 down' -- 1 deck below the main deck.

"There 'tis. It's tiny, alright, and sticky hain't the word; they've got it sealed with a wedge from the outside. See it? Just below the rail, halfway back on the port side." Tootles looked and agreed.

He handed Melicent the spyglass. She adjusted it and looked where he had indicated, and saw a small wooden panel, hinged with metal at the bottom but wedged shut at the top. "The dark square?" she asked.

"That's it," said Nibs. "That's the flap on a cannon port. The note must be suggesting we try getting in there. You or Peter should be small enough to squeeze through when no one's looking. Hopefully it's not a trap! Are you game?"

"To get my brother out? Of course!"

-o-

Peter was taken aback by the report of prisoners. He was captain of the island, after all!

"Maybe other boys and girls are missing. Let's find out how many. Daniel, check around the village. Beeb, the gypsies. Sam, the crusaders. James, the Indians. Ask if anybody's been gone for a day or so. And don't lose yourself!" The boys ran off on their detective adventures.

Another boy was sent to Horace Bims, since he sat in his lawn chair much of every morning, with a good view of the lagoon. Upon questioning, Bims reported that the Vikings had been on the deck of the ship for about two days now, beginning shortly after the fuss over Edward's arrival. They had loud parties every night until they all got drunk and fell asleep. He hadn't noticed any others, except one of Peter's new friends had been making a racket out there with a hammer the day before. No, he didn't notice him leaving, "but he was one of those flyers, so he might've flitted off anywheres."

Peter's detectives returned by late afternoon to report. Except for Michael, all of the missing were teenagers, which made sense if the Vikings were taking prisoners for sale as slaves. Smaller children couldn't do much work until they grew up; someone Michael's size could only be used for dirty jobs in tight spaces. As a slave, he might have to sweep chimneys, or clean the inside of pipes, or look for rats and snakes under floorboards.

In all, about two dozen souls seemed to be prisoners. (One lady wanted to report a missing kitten, but the detectives decided the Vikings wouldn't have kidnapped a kitten, as they are hard to train as chimney sweeps.)

Everyone agreed the twins could take care of themselves, and probably weren't missing.

At the least, they'd try to get Michael out; Melicent offered to go for him. They considered engineering a mass escape -- getting all the prisoners out the cannon hole. That wouldn't work, because the hole was too small except for Michael.

Some boys offered to drill holes in the ship's bottom; if it sank, it couldn't sail off with the prisoners. Tootles wisely suggested they should not do that, because they didn't want those who were locked inside the ship to drown. However, he didn't mind if the boys sawed off the rudder below the waterline.

Everybody had suggestions.

"It says he needs dust. Is that fairy dust?"

"We have some in the kitchen," answered Melicent.

"You'll need something to get the wedge out."

"I've got a right strong bungscrew," offered Curly. "It's like a corkscrew, but rugged."

"And a light to see inside."

"I'll be bringing a lantern," said Edward.

"But you can't shine the light on the Vikings, or the game's up."

"We'll cloak it," said Peter.

"And what if Michael goes out the cannon hole, but the fairy dust doesn't work?"

"Then Michael goes splash, and has to swim home!" said Melicent. "Not to worry; Wendy and I towed him here, so Peter and Edward can surely fly him to shore."

"It's not far at all," said Nibs. "Alright then, nothing else? Fine. Tonight, we wait until the drinking party's over."


	20. The Sleight of the NotABat

**20. The Sleight of the Not-A-Bat.**

The Vikings should have been smarter, and left even one man aside to stand guard. It was not too wise for all of them, without exception, to join in the singing and rum-drinking every night.

By 9 that night, every Viking on the Duchess, man or boy, was loudly snoring. A few were folded over the rail and in danger of falling overboard; the rest were scattered about the deck in various piles.

As a result, no guard was awake to see three figures fly towards the ship, barely above the water, then shoot upwards along the port side.

This was a hazardous mission, very important. This calls for the mysterious, clever, extremely gorgeous and mighty Not-a-Bat -- by day an inconsequential kitchen maid and story-teller, but by night, the masked flying girl wonder and tiger-tamer!

Well, okay, yes; it's just little Melicent fantasising again -- and she doesn't even have a mask, or a cape, or a utility belt full of gadgets and gimcracks, and all that other garb worn by any proper super-hero of the year 2003. Girls are allowed to fantasise, too, as long as this secret-identity thing is only in her head.

Right beside her was Edward with a cloaked lantern, and out in front was Peter, enjoying this sneaky, exciting adventure.

Satisfied that they hadn't been noticed, they began to attack the problem of entry. Curly's bung-screw was forcefully turned into the wedge on the port-side cannon hole lid. With a lot of effort, Peter and Melicent tugged and yanked.

Finally, the wedge went flying and the lid popped open. Edward waved the lantern towards the shore to signal their success, then turned it towards the hole.

Slipping through, Melicent reconnoitered inside. This deck was full of sleepers also, but it was the prisoners. She flew around the floor, looking for Michael, and finally spotted him curled up in a corner. She gently shook him awake.

He started in right off. "Mel! You won't believe! I..."

But she shushed him, reached in her pocket, and took out a handful of luminescent powder. "Fairy dust," she whispered, and blew it on him. He sneezed from some of it.

"I don't know if that'll work on me now!" he whimpered, without explaining the grog.

"Believe and try, shortie. C'mon." She pulled him off the floor, took him to the porthole, then propelled him on his way, like shoving a log out the window. She didn't hear a splash (not that Michael would make much of a splash), so she assumed he was still airborne.

Satisfied with her work, she zoomed outside and looked around for her brother. Edward pointed to the main deck, where Michael was having his sweet revenge. He had seen that Skrael was one of those who were bent over the railing, drunkenly asleep. Michael and Peter carefully lifted Skrael by the feet, just enough to upset the balance, and the fat Viking tumbled overboard.

"Score!" said Michael quietly, and finally joined the others, headed for the house. He tried to have his say again. "Mel, I..."

"Save it for later, Michael. We've got work to do. We got a note to come and get you -- but it also said the Vikings have a plot to kill Peter. We don't know what the Vikings have in mind, or where, or when. We'll have to think, think, think and figure it out. Did you overhear anything?"

"All I know is, a boy heard Vikings talking, and one of them said they were going to kill Peter and destroy every 'dog thing' on the island."

"Dog thing?"

"Something like that. The guy didn't speak good English."

"Do you have a dog, Peter?" asked Melicent.

"No. There are a few on the island, and I think I might have seen one at your house once, but I never had a dog -- or don't remember any, at least."

"An important doghouse?"

"No."

"A dog cart?"

"No."

"Dog thing -- oh well. What's one more secret around here!" moaned Melicent.

-o-

At the house, Peter and the boys circled around Michael to hear of his adventure. He might have embellished it a little -- especially the part about grabbing a sword and fighting off a dozen Vikings while swinging on ropes from mast to mast before being outnumbered and caught -- but it was pretty close.

When Melicent finally had an opportunity to pull him aside, she gave him an assistant-motherly hug and said she was glad he was back.

"Yeah," he answered, "I guess I missed you too. Maybe."

"I see you still fib a lot."

"Who, me?"

"Yes, you. Now, what did you want to tell me?"

"Tell you.. ?"

"At the ship. You wanted to tell me something."

"Oh, that. Well, I told Peter about it just now --"

"Yeah?"

"-- and I found out I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"It's a secret."

"Michael! Everybody's been keeping a secret from me. Now, you too?"

"Uh-huh."

"The same secret?"

"Yep," said Michael, feeling very superior to his big sister for once.

"Nobody's going to tell me, not even you?"

"When Peter's ready, he'll tell you -- unless you find out first. But I can swear it's true." He ran off to have a celebratory biscuit before bedtime.

_This is going to drive me mad,_ thought Melicent. _Edward will tell me._

"Edward, did you hear Michael talking to Peter?"

"Hm? Oh. Yes."

"And what did he tell him?"

"Sorry, Melicent, I can't say. They told me it's a secret."

"Was this about something the shaman said to me?"

"Shaman? No."

_Arrrrrggggh!_


	21. Out Of The Earth

**21. Out of The Earth.**

Now, they knew for certain who the Vikings were. Michael reported hearing that prisoners and booty had been stored in the caves. There was no mistaking who Denny was; the captain had talked of the ship's glorious old days, and his pocketed arm ended in a hook.

Right off, they would need a well-thought plan to free the prisoners. Whatever it was, unless it could be done in broad daylight, they had all day to think about it.

It looked like the rescue might take place without the visitors from England. By Melicent's count, today should be the 7th, the day Edward was lost at sea, so it was time for him to go home -- and she and Michael had been here for several adventurous days, so maybe they, too, should take a last look around, say their g'byes and go home tonight. There would always be time for more adventures on their next trip.

But first things first -- breakfast! As he ate, Edward was wondering out loud about the number of pirates they had seen.

"At sea, when the wind changes, the Viking ship will need lots of rowing power, and the pirate ship will need plenty of hands to tend the sails. It's odd they could spare that many oarsmen away from the Viking crew to come up with a full crew of pirates."

"Could they be boys who joined the Vikings at the fair?" thought Peter.

"From what Michael says, these aren't young boys. Maybe it's just a few men from _each_ of the Viking ships," said Wendy.

"Ships, plural?" questioned Nibs.

"Thinking back, when I first flew in with Melicent and Michael, there were _several_ Viking ships coming our way. I thought it would be quite a show with all of them in the harbor... but only one showed up! Perhaps the others dropped off some of their crewmen elsewhere on the island, and left. Now a few men from each ship are on the pirate ship."

"They thought of everything, then, didn't they?" groaned Nibs. "They must have planned this whole trip for fair time, when everything's in confusion and youngsters wouldn't be missed for a few days. They knew about the caves when we didn't. They must have intended all along to take the pirate ship, because the Viking ships don't have a big hold for prisoners, food, booty and whatnot. Maybe they thought out about the signs, too; they'll want their two main ships to be known when they're enter pirate waters to trade. This man has a cleverness for evil."

Peter was puzzled. "If he's Captain Hook, then he must have a daycloth -- but surely we'd have noticed one that had his name on it."

"Now, Peter, you know the fairies are careless about that," said Jane. "Some of the daycloths just have a first name, or a nickname, or an occupation, or nonsense. Hook's could be one of those. It would be quite a job to find it. And, like certain little boys I know, once the fairies bring something out to use, they leave it lying around, and never put away unless you tell them."

Michael leaned over to Melicent and whispered, "What's a daycloth?" He had been asleep when Wendy told his sister about them.

Melicent, still grumbling about Peter's silly secret, whispered back; "Can't tell you. It's a secret."

He looked at her. "Sis, are you mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad?"

"For telling the boys you're so fat you got stuck in the cannon port, and we had to pull you out."

"I didn't know you said that, but thanks for telling me. Now, I'm mad at you, yes."

"I was just kidding."

Then two familiar voices returned to grace Peter's kitchen.

"Is it true what the Town Crier says about this fine tea-an'-vittles establishment..." said one.

"...holding a birthday without us?" said the other.

"Hi, twins!" greeted Melicent, who lightly conked Michael with a teaspoon once the others were distracted.

"How were the caves?" asked Jane.

"Super," answered whichever. "Your spelunkers-in-residence have discovered the source of the Mysterious!"

Michael wanted to say, _"You mean the big cavern in the mountain with the falls?"_ because he had heard about it from the other prisoners. But, he politely let the explorers have the glory.

"There _is_ a hole in the hill -- a gigantic cavern, angling up like a staircase right up to the ridge. Not too steep or anything. If the gypsies wanted to camp up there, they could drive their vans right nicely from the plain to the top, no trouble at all. The river falls from both the lakes though the cave. Mystery solved."

"A big entrance, too," said the other. "Just all covered up with brush and vines. Now it's all cleared away, it's so big you could run a railway through it. We've got to ask Mr. Pan's intrepid young gang why they hain't found that in all these years running around in those silly skin suits, eh? Took us what, two days?"

"Good question for them," said Melicent with a smirk. "Michael?"

"Well, maybe we were busy hunting and fishing so you had something to put in a sandwich, so you could pack a lunch and go off on holiday."

"Wull," said a twin, "the little fellow's got a point there, and thank you lot for that! Now, there is that pool in the cave where the fish fall down from the lakes and have to hop to another pool to get out of the cave. If we showed 'em where it is, the boys could stand there like we did, and catch fish without a hook. I suppose we'll have to show 'em, eh?"

"Um, maybe not," said the other. "When I was a boy, I'd rather hold a pole over the river for an hour, feeding worms to the fishes, and wait for one blinkin' fool among 'em to bite the hook. Must play the game, after all."

"Yeah, but a smart, athletic fish caught in midair just has to taste better than a foolish layabout fish full o' chewed-up worms."

"Wull, we'll show 'em where the entrance is, give 'em the grand tour and let 'em decide."

"Perhaps you should hear what's up first," said Nibs, turning serious. He told the twins about the prisoner situation, and a plot of some sort to kill Peter.

"Oo. That's different. Wull, we'll put it off, then. Just so we tell the boys where it all is; you never know when information like that might come in handy."

"Not to worry; we probably can't do anything until after dark, so today's okay for your trip. Keep a keen eye open, and try to think of any way we can free them."

"Could I come?" asked Melicent. "I want to visit Tinker Bell and the fairies on the top of the ridge."

"I'll tell you what, Melicent," said Wendy. "Take the cave road next trip. Since your time is short, you and I will fly to the fairies' garden by ourselves."

"Excellent!"

"She means she likes it," said Michael, in his best Melicent imitation.

"I think she can understand my English, thank you. I'm not Michael 'cool beans' Darling."

-o-

Inside the mountain, a small army of men was forming in side pockets of the cavern.

Skrael, in particular, wore a very evil, vengeful look as he sharpened his scimitar. Let the captain run Peter Pan through with great joy! Let the crew skewer the lot of them like kabobs! When the time came, his blade would have it out with a certain annoying little boy.


	22. Daycloths and Dreams

**22. Daycloths and Dreams.**

While the twins led Peter, Michael and the hunters to the cave entrance, Melicent and Wendy took to the sky to see the ridge.

Melicent couldn't help glancing towards the ship in the lagoon. "I feel so sorry for the prisoners. I'd hate to go home and leave them there. They can't be having any fun locked up."

"Not to worry," reassured Wendy. "You can't always have a complete adventure before dinner, and solve every problem yourself before bedtime. Peter and the Lost Boys will figure out a way, and we'll save all of them. We have time to gallivant today; why, the sun's hardly up! At this hour, only a few of the garden-variety fairies will be awake yet, and the dream fairies will just be coming home."

"What are dream fairies?"

"The dream fairies are the spreaders of odd dreams. They sleep all day and wake up at sunset, then fly about the fields and lawns; they're often mistaken for fireflies. When they meet other dream fairies, they swap dreams they've overheard from sleepers, then go to their own sleeper that night and whisper a particularly good story. So, you don't get the same dream every night."

"I hardly ever do."

"But, like any story retold many times, the dreams tend to be wrong! And some time, it makes no sense at all. Let's say one boy dreams about exploring the bottom of the lagoon, looking for treasure, while another boy dreams about walking across a lawn. When your dream fairy retells those stories, you dream you're floating face-down a foot above the ground, pushing yourself along, looking for coins in the grass."

"Once, I dreamt I was in church when I found I was barefooted; everybody noticed, and it was very embarrassing."

"There you are. Or, you're happily dancing with a pig in school to music from a chorus of lorry drivers. That's a dream fairy at work."

"Oh! Then - when somebody flies in my window wearing leaves, and takes me away to a Neverland to talk to a tiger, and visit a shaman, and write a poem, and meet pirates and fairies, could it be a dream?"

Wendy smiled. "Who can tell - maybe this is all a dream! Y'know, I wrote a poem too; mine was about the dream fairies. I left it hanging on the wall in my old house. We'll visit there, and see what daycloths look like, and maybe Tink will be awake by then. Will that be alright with you?"

"Sure!"

There was a thick hedgerow, to keep wandering animals and curious boys out of the fairies' garden. That didn't stop Wendy and Melicent, of course, who simply flew over it.

In the garden were beehives; the bees were glad to share their honey if the fairies grew plenty of flowers. Herbs provided many spicy meals in fairy-sized portions, and mice provided milk in exchange for cheese and bits of Tootles' bread. It was a working farm on a miniature scale, with room for the occasional visitor to walk about.

At the center stood several rows of tall, wide ladder-like pole structures, which Wendy said were designed after a Slavish 'kozolec', or hayrack. Here were the freshly-washed daycloths, drying in the mountain air and warm sun. Finally, Melicent was able to see these wonderful devices - each one a tightly-woven, strong cloth about one foot square, each bearing an inscription.

"As far as the fairies are concerned, they could be all identical blank cloths. The keepers have a talent for knowing who the cloth belongs to."

"The keepers?"

"The fairies who store the cloths in the loft, in special cabinets, when not in use. However, their memories and their lives are short. Just in case they forget whose it is, they allow someone who can spell to write the person's name on it, and then the fairies stitch our writing. They can't read it themselves, but we can."

The girls wandered through an old gateway, and there was the house that Melicent had seen from Pillow Hill when she arrived - although up close, it looked more like a thicket.

"I thought Peter's real house was a bunch of hollow stumps in the ground," said Melicent.

"It was. This is the house that the boys built around me while I was asleep. They cut fresh wood to build it, and the pieces they stuck in the ground took root. So, the walls are alive, and the house is growing bigger by itself. Whenever they need more room inside, they just wait a while until it's big enough. Tink doesn't always like me, and insists it's Peter's house."

"And what's inside?"

"Oh, sleeping fairies, for one; we'll be quiet enough. And daycloths -_ lots_ of daycloths!"

Melicent peeked though the door. Sure enough, the walls were covered with the time-savers.

"These are the ones in use?"

"Good guess," answered Wendy in a low voice. "Once a week or so, they come through and wash all of these, and hang them out for a day on the hayracks. It doesn't take long. My, how the number of daycloths has grown! The walls are almost covered now. So many familiar names - there's Nibs' cloth, and Swooping Eagle of the Indians, Dumric Hassen of the crusaders... and somewheres in this mess, Hook's."

"Couldn't you just put his cloth away, so he's not around?"

"Perhaps - if we knew what name was on it."

"What name would his have?"

"Any name. The writing is only to tell them apart. Some just say 'the carpenter' , or 'the jolly sailor' or that sort of thing. Some do change their names, too; I believe these two here, Swooping Eagle and Dumric, are actually brothers. Look, there's Tiger Lily's cloth... and Hetta, the gypsy dancer, and... oh, how nice. My poem's still readable."

Melicent went up to it. Wendy had written the poem on a blank daycloth. From all appearances, the fairies had treated it like a regular daycloth, stitching every word as though it was someone's very long name, and washing it each week. It read:

_Everybody's dreams come together in the twilight,  
Chatting of adventures, sharing all we've seen and done,  
Hearing other dreams tell of children, sun and dewdrops,  
And romantic tales of lovers who have lost and won._

_Everybody's dreams hear of scary apprehensions,  
And the awful moments that some others can't forget,  
And the playful hours, and the times that are the keepsakes,  
And a million things that haven't even happened yet._

_Everybody's dreams then go home to us at dreamtime,  
Chatting of adventures, sharing all they've seen and done,  
Mixing up the tales that the other dreams related,  
Telling us a dream that's all the other dreams in one._

"Very nice," said Mielicent, " but how come it doesn't mention fairies?"

"That's 'poetic licence'. It's like fibbing in a nice way. I didn't want to say that fairies get dreams mixed up; if Tink heard that, she might get cross with me. So, I just said dreams swap stories."

"Should I take the poem home and put it in the Peter Pan book for safe keeping?"

"You wouldn't want to do that. You see, it's not just a poem; that's my actual daycloth - the one that keeps the very ancient Wendy Moira Angela Darling fit as a fiddle and 14! 'Cool beans,' hmm?"

"Oh, extreme coolness, yes!" chuckled Melicent.

The house sounded like a thousand tiny, gentle wind chimes. Wendy explained that it was the only sound the fairies make as they sleep. Indeed, in nooks in the wall were lights that glowed, and faded, and glowed again; Melicent looked closely, and each light was a curled-up fairy, with a wee set of gossamer wings. Here and there, almost too small to see, were baby honeybees who were sleeping over with young fairy playmates.

Then came a continuous tinkling sound, buzzing closely about their heads, flashing brightly.

"Let me guess," said Melicent. "Tinker Bell, right?"

"Of course," said Wendy. "Hello, Tink, old girl!"

But Tink was not in a cheerful mood, circling Melicent, examining this newcomer. "One wendy, two wendies, now _three_ wendies!" she chimed. "Too many wendies!"

Wendy chuckled. "Now, you know the other one is my daughter. I told you about Jane. And this is Melicent, my long-later granddaughter, who is visiting Peter for the first time."

"Humph. Peter doesn't need a new house, or _any_ wendies!"

"I understand, Tink - but you take such good care of this lovely house of Peter's, and I mostly take care of the other boys, don't I? You have so much to do, with all the daycloths and gardens to tend. He only wants me to be the mother. Aren't you still Peter's very best and only girlfriend?"

"Mothers are mean. Peter's mother locked his window and wouldn't let him in."

"Or so he says. I think he just wanted to run away and not grow up. At any rate, Melicent wanted to come and see you."

"Hi, Tink," said Melicent. "I brought you a present."

"A present?"

Melicent didn't respond, for to tell the truth, so far she had not understood even one word of Tinker Bell's high, shimmery voice. She would get used to it eventually, but for now, Wendy interceded.

"Yes, Tink. She and I talked it over, and she made it for you. We hope you'll like it; they're all the rage in the village, and Peter likes them. They're called 'signs', and this one is for your house. See?"

"What does it do?"

"It says something, like the stitches on the daycloths say names. It says -

**PETER PAN'S FAIRY-GARDEN HOUSE  
Miss TINKER BELL, Hostess  
WELCOME**

"Now isn't that nice of her, Tink?"

Tink was quiet for a moment. People had done her favours before, but this new wendy had given her a gift, a people-gift, for no reason at all. She mumbled a few slight dings.

"I take it that was a thank-you," said Wendy, "and you're welcome. Now, if I might beg a favour from you, would you make Melicent her very own daycloth? You stitch them so well!"

"Humph... okay." She went away, returning in a moment with a blank cloth.

"Sign here, Melicent."

Melicent, using Nib's editorial pencil, carefully entered her name on the cloth in her very best handwriting, and handed it to Tink to stitch.

"Welcome to a long childhood," smiled Wendy.


	23. Signs and Omens

**23. Signs and Omens.**

Wendy flew Melicent down the slope, then on a whim, turned towards the fairgrounds.

"Let's see the gypsies before they pack up and leave. Since you trust the shaman, I'll introduce you to the gypsy version. Now, not everyone who tells fortunes is necessarily good at it. This lady isn't; she looks and listens well, and remembers clues about you, and only pretends to read the crystal ball, but she's entertaining nonetheless. Remember what you told the boys the other night, about making up stories?"

"Um... that it's okay as long as everybody knows it's just a story."

"Right. She's sending us up, so we'll return the favour, just for fun. We'll tell her a story, and listen to her tell it back to us. When we're close to her van, just remember the walls have ears. Go along with anything I say, and I'll do the same with you. Okay, _Peggy_?"

"Peggy?"

"Sure. That's your name, isn't it?"

"Huh?...oh! Right, it's Peggy. Alright, _sis_?"

"Now you've got it!"

They landed and walked through the gypsy encampment, where the men were loading the vans. The maidens cooked a last meal while the older ladies enjoyed the children at play - and yes, guarded the children lest any more disappear. A small bear, chained to a stake, stood on his hind legs and happily imitated the children who were dancing a circle around him to flute music.

"We can wait here, Peg," said Wendy. "She should come when she senses we're looking for her. Her name's Zigany, and she's very insightful."

"Thanks for bringing me, sis," said Melicent. "I'd love to know what will happen when I go back to Heston and visit our uncle."

"You can ask her about your big brother, Edward, and whether his team will win the soccer cup. Ask almost anything."

"Even what the secret is?"

"Except what the secret is. With any luck, you'll know the answer to that in a few hours."

"Rats."

" 'Rats.' Does that mean you like it?"

"No, it does not! I'm bursting to find out, and you won't tell me!"

"Well, anyway. What are you going to do first when you get back to Number 19?"

"I'll go to my tiny little bedroom and jump up and down on my bed, and then I'll know I'm home."

"Where is your cousin Michael going to sleep?"

"Well, Edward has the big nursery; he's oldest since you left. Michael will probably sleep there, in the hammock."

Coming around the tent behind them, a dark and beauteous lady made her appearance. "You are waiting for me," she greeted them.

"You must be Zigany. I brought my little sister to learn her future."

"Come in, come in."

They entered the sunny tent and sat around a small table, inscribed with an ouija board. Zigany brought a dish, and a bunch of mixed flowers. She pulled the petals off, and scattered them in the dish.

"Stir them for me, girl," she said, and Melicent complied. Zigany then began turning the dish and examining the petals from all angles.

"Hmmm. You have come here on a trip, to see your family, and now must go home. It will be most heartbreaking."

"Well, yes. All g'byes are sad," said Melicent.

"The strongest in the time of sadness will be... I see a name... it begins with M, and ends with L. It is forming..."

_Oh, her she goes,_ thought Melicent. _She must have been inside the tent listening to every word we said. Come on, say 'Michael' and get it over with._

"The name," said Zigany, "is... Mel."

_Mel? How did she..._

"You will find sadness twice, and happiness twice, before you have slept twice. You have planted many happy things in Neverland..."

_She must mean the signs. But..._

"Still, you must plant one sad thing. Because of you, freedom will come to many - but, _triste!_ Someone who pined for you will never be free."

_Penelope! Oh, Penelope, I'm so sorry!_

"Do not be anxious about the future. The future will only come when it is time. Enjoy your life. You have worried about meeting a man on a road; fear not, the road is far off, but when you do reach it, it will be a sunny road. It is not predetermined by us; we only see it. You will choose to have the man walk with you."

_There it is again! What is all this about walking?_

"Do you have any questions for me?"

"What is this about walking?"

"It's simply life's road, dearie; you're already on it. It has a few bumps and bends and detours and washouts, but all in all, it's a fine road to walk. Go now; it's almost time to begin the day's events."

They were well away from the gypsy camp before Melicent opened up. "Okay, what was that? She didn't fall for anything we said outside the tent, and then she said the same 'walking' thing the shaman did."

"Maybe they swop notes," said Wendy. "I don't know. She's never been like that before. I must say, Melicent, you have an odd effect on fortune tellers in Neverland!"

-o-

Since the fair was closing and everyone was leaving, it was only proper that Melicent, too, should tend to her affairs. She took down her **SIGNS** shingle; Nibs would tend her business from his paper shop while she was in London. She flew the leftover shingles to their maker. With a hand from Michael and Wendy, she took apart her tiny booth (which was just a few crudely nailed boards). She contributed it to the gypsies for firewood, and it was done.

Wendy took each of the children in hand and walked them slowly back to the village.

"Will the Vikings be back next year, or pirates, or what?" asked Melicent.

"There's no telling," replied Wendy. "We just wait to see who pops in next, for good or bad. We've had polar bear hunters, cattle rustlers, balloonists and gold miners. This year it's Vikings. Some stay, some go, some change. It's always an adventure here."

"It certainly is. When I read your book, it was almost like somebody was dreaming new things up as you went along."

"Maybe we're all dreaming those mixed-up dreams, and they become real. The boys want to play pirates, and abracadabra! there are pirates."

"That's all it takes?" said Melicent. "Then with Michael here, we're lucky we're not fighting space aliens."

"Ha, right!" retorted Michael. "With Melicent here, we should all be flying on broomsticks!"

"Watch it, Michael. I'm still bigger than you are."

"Fatter, for sure." After a growling sound from his sister, he retreated; "Just kidding! Just kidding!"

"Y'know, Michael," said Wendy, "I've been all tied up with house-tending, and the happenings around the village, while you've been off with Peter and the boys. Other than at meals, I haven't really spent a lot of time getting to know you as well as I did Melicent, but I'm going to miss you immensely."

"And I''ll miss you, Gram," he said, and gave her a hug - oh, just a lean to the side, one of those polite little there-and-gone hugs to the arm, but a hug nevertheless, and spoken from the heart. It was still a bit hard for him to imagine this 14-year-old could be his great-great-great grandmother, the twinkly-eyed girl with her hair in a funny bun on a spotty old ferrotype photo in the family album, but she'd do.

"And thanks for not making any fat-grandmother jokes."

"Maybe next time."

"Ha! Cool beans, little guy."

-o-

Melicent was no sooner home than she returned to the fairgrounds one more time - for a g'bye and a 'sorry' to Penelope.

But, the cage was gone.

She ran to the nearest crusader, Rupesh the elephant-master, who was loading emptied sacks and crates on his charges.

"Where is the tigress, and her cub? Did you take her away already? Did she escape?"

"No, no, girl," he answered. "She's been bought. They paid good for her, plenty gold as expected, and took her out last night."

"Where did she go?"

"I don't know, girl. You have to ask the Vikings."

A voice came from behind her: "They took her towards Pillow Hill." It was Slightleigh, on his horse, ready to lead his troupe away. "They've been storing their goods in a staging area somewheres over there, and trundling goods in and out of it at night."

"Yes. We didn't know, but there's a cavern in the hill -"

"Whatever. But the important thing is, the tiger is out of my hands now. You've paid your debt honourably, by waiting. I'm sure you're still possessed by that mad urge to release her. Knowing you'll try, I wish you well."

"Thank you, milord. If I can free her, I will."


	24. Tiger, Tiger

**24. Tiger, Tiger.**

Out of sight of the village, the tiger cage was brought from the caves and loaded on a float, then towed around the hill to the Duchess. It would have been so simple to release Penelope and her cub at the fairgrounds; now, it seeemed nearly impossible.

On the Duchess, the pirates climbed the masts to tear down the century-old canvas tatters and put out a new set of sails and rigging - and a Jolly Roger atop the mizzenmast. With a grapple, the old anchor was recovered from the bottom of the lagoon, and a new chain installed on it.

On the Gokstad, the Vikings mounted a dragon's figurehead on the prow - something they didn't usually do in friendly waters. All pretence of a casual trading visit had obviously ended.

Each ship had only a skeleton crew; the rest of the men had business to attend. Bim watched all this with Nib's spyglass, and kept the others informed.

-o-

"This is getting dreadful." said Nibs. "Cutting the rudder may not have been a good idea after all. If they set sail tonight, they might drift into the lagoon's reef and tip 'er over in deep water. We'd be better off if they had seen us cut it! Now, to save the prisoners, we have to do something before they weigh anchor."

"Not only that," added Tootles, "but now they've got a tiger they could set free on us if we set foot on that deck."

"I wish they would free her!" said Melicent. "Then I wouldn't have to try."

"Oh, yes," said Wendy. "I forgot. You said you were thinking of freeing Penelope and her cub. I'm sorry, Melicent, but now she's on the ship, I'm afraid that might be impossible."

"Maybe not," said Tootles, brightening. "Let's use the tiger to our advantage!"

"WHAT?"

"Sure. She might be just what we need! Here's my plan..."

-o-

"Hi, Mr. Bim," said Edward. "Nibs was asking to borrow back his spyglass for a while."

"Of course... hullo! You're the boy off the boat! One of the flyers who went with Peter last night, no? Good show!"

"Thanks. It looks like we're going back for the others, this afternoon."

"Really! Wull, good luck to ya's. If he'll not be needin' the spyglass for it, mind ya bring it back so I can watch today's performance, then! An' have we smart people calculated what th' bloomin' pirates are up to, before sailin' out o' here?"

"Not all of it. Some of them were overheard talking, and one said they want to destroy every 'dog thing', or something like that - and, kill Peter."

"Oo! An evil wicked plan, that. Sends chills up me spine. That wouldn't kill just Peter. It'd kill me - an' a lot of us, man an' pup alike."

Edward frowned, confused. "Sorry? What would?"

"Just what ya said. What more do ya have to know? A lot of winkin' out, and no comin' back. Nooo, don't want that to happen."

"Winking? What... Mr. Bim, do you know what it is?"

"Sure!" Then he finally noticed Edward's confusion. "Oh, I see. Ye're prob'ly too young."

"It's the only clue we have, and we don't understand it. What is it, a doghouse? Dog tag? Dog collar?"

"There, ya almost said it again - sounded a little different this time, but ye're still not sayin' it exactly right."

"Mr. Bim, please! What IS it, in plain English?"

"Oh, it's not plain English, lad! Some of those so-called Vikings must actually be from Scandinavia - me ol' port o' call when I was on the North Sea, y'know. It's plain _Swedish_. _Dag_ is day, _tyg_ is cloth. They're plottin' to destroy every dag-tyg, are they? A frightful calamity, that!"


	25. The Bite of the NotABat

**25. The Bite of the Not-A-Bat.**

Frightful, indeed! There was a gloomy, awful what-do-we-do-now silence round the table when Edward explained _dag-tyg_ to the group. If it hadn't worried anybody before that the daycloths were vulnerable, it did now. Wendy flew to alert Tinker Bell, letting her know the villagers would be coming shortly, to stand guard round-the-clock.

"Bim is worried," said Melicent. "He says he'd 'wink out' if the daycloths were destroyed. Does that mean..."

"Just what it says," answered Jane. "You're safe. If your cloth were destroyed, you'd just replace it with a new one on your next visit. But Bim and I, and many others, can't come back like that. Our lives depend on the daycloths. If ours are torn up or destroyed, _poof-_ we're gone, and we'll never be back."

"And Peter."

"Yes. Even my mother had heard of him when she was a little girl. He wanted to not grow up, and the fairies accommodated him. He's ages old. He lives by his daycloth; if it's taken and destroyed, he winks out."

But, while Peter and the Lost Boys roused a team of defenders, there was business to conduct on the Duchess before the pirates tried to sail away with their precious cargo. Once again, the rescue mission fell to the flyers.

-o-

Since Michael had been freed, the pirates had secured the escape routes. The cannon port was now nailed shut. Penelope's heavy cage sat on the hatch; she had to be hoisted whenever they opened it to throw scraps of food down to the prisoners.

Those trapped below were miserable, powerless to escape, with nothing that could be used as a weapon other than a few spoons and the nurse's pencil. She tried to cheer them with more of the Arabian Nights tales, and a few songs. They were encouraged by her success in sending the message and obtaining Michael's escape, and hoped that another little bird would come toddling in the cannoneer's starboard peephole, so they might send another message. It was so boring in their prison; why, the fair must have ended, and they had missed it!

Then, at just the right moment, on the main deck, two enemies met again.

"Hi, Skrael! Remember me?"

Skrael looked up. There was Michael, standing calmly at the end of the plank. Many a pirates' prisoner had been forced to walk that plank to a watery doom in the old days. Michael was smiling and waving.

"You! Ye little Neverland rat!" muttered Skrael.

"Hey, did you enjoy your swim the other night? Wow, what a big splash!"

"I'll take me sword and dice ya into mincemeat and feed the pieces to the sharks!"

"Why don't you waddle over here and try?"

"Say yer prayers, fer ya ain't got no place to run!"

Skrael wasn't going to let this moment go by. He had been waiting for a chance to settle with Michael. He took out his huge curved scimitar and came forward.

Of course, Skrael wasn't aware of the saw-cutting that the boys had quietly done. Oh, not the cut in the rudder; they had finished that job already, and this ship would be completely unsteerable if it were ever moved. No these were the saw cuts across the bottom of the plank. So, Skrael, foolish as always, walked the plank. The plank broke under his weight, whereupon he made a big splash for the second time that week, while Michael was left calmly hovering in mid-air where the plank used to end.

The other pirates came to see what the fuss was. Once again, nobody was left on guard! Melicent quietly flew to the cage, and began removing the pins that held the door on all sides. The tigress saw her, stirred, and stood up in the cage.

Michael and Edward had the crew's attention. They taunted the pirates from above, flying figure eights over their heads, just beyond reach of their swords.

"Hey, Edward, have you ever seen such funny pirates?"

"Ridiculous, aren't they? Peter and the boys look more like pirates than they do."

"That round one looks like a hot-air balloon at a circus."

"Is that his belly, or a beachball?"

"I'll bet they float as good as Skrael."

"We'll know in a minute."

The pirates would have none of it. "Come down here and fight like men, ye two twitterin' canaries!"

"Not today," answered Edward. "We want to watch you ladies swim the Channel."

"Ye won't get us in the water so easily. What do ye take us for, ye little fools?"

"You are going to go for a swim, y'know. Either I convince you, or Penelope will."

"An' who's Penelope - yer shrimpy mate here?"

"Uhh... no. Penelope's the tiger."

Reminded, the pirates suddenly looked at each other, then back at the tiger - just as Melicent floated away from the cage, pulling the last pin and holding it up for the shocked pirates to see. She waved at them. "Bye! Have a nice swim!"

With a leap, Penelope knocked open the unlatched door, and began creeping towards them.

With a leap, each and every pirate opted to jump into the water after all.

With a leap, Penelope followed them. After all, tigers are one of the few kinds of cats that love being in water.

Skrael's splashing had already chased away all the fish and mermaids nearby. After that, there was quite a lot of fussing and jumping and splashing and yelling in the water. I don't want to tell you everything that was going on, as it might disturb small children; not yourself, of course. Messy and scary, though, if you happened to be a pirate who couldn't swim to safety on Marooners' Rock very, very quickly, and they all did their absolute best. (Americans would probably say the Tigers shut out the Pirates, but that's a very lame baseball reference, and I would never use it here.)

Once the fuss was over, Penelope looked around her, then up at the ship, making noises, then turned towards the village. She hit the shore running and roaring.

"Where is she going so fast?" asked Michael.

Melicent spotted the answer wandering around the deck, mewing and looking lost. "She jumped, but the cub didn't! She thinks the cub is still being held captive!"

Speedily, she picked the cub up by the scruff and flew to shore. _Don't tell me I have to do this a secnd time!_ she thought.

"Right behind you, sis," came Michael's voice.

"Are Edward and the boys with you?"

"They're going to pry open the hatch and hoist the prisoners out. The fishermen are bringing their boat alongside. Where's Penelope going?"

"She's retracing her route to the ship. She must be after the crusaders for capturing her and the cub. If we return the cub, she may leave them alone."

They found the crusaders at the Mysterious River on the plain, with their flock of terrified, rearing horses and bellowing camels. Slightleigh, Dumric and the troops had dismounted in a defensive line, decidedly threatened by a snarling Penelope.

Melicent, with her squirming passenger, hovered over Slightleigh.

"Milord, here's the cub. Move slowly, and let her see you take it from me. Then slowly put it down in front of you."

"You can put it down," fidgeted Slightleigh. Why don't you just put it down?"

"I freed her; she's not after me. She has to see you free the cub."

Slightleigh, as nervous as he had been in many a year, raised shaky hands, took the cub and quickly lowered it from Melicent's grasp to the ground, to toddle towards its mother. As before, the tigress was torn between nurture and slaughter, and made the best decision.

She nudged the cub aside - then suddenly, leaped to slash the bottom of Slightleigh's robe with one paw. She roared at him, snorted her total disrespect, and walked away.

"I think," said Melicent, "that she just told you to never trap them again."

Slightleigh was unhurt. He nodded to Melicent. "I suppose I now owe _you_ a favour for Number 14."

Melicent, almost as scared as the last time, nodded back. She was not amused at having been put through this again. "I'll think of something, milord."

Slightleigh glanced up at something beyond his rescuers, and pointed. "Actually, we may need to work together right off. The ridge is on fire."

"The ridge?" asked Melicent, turning. "Oh, no! It's at the fairies' garden! The daycloths!" One thing after another! It was as if all the adventures in Neverland were trying to resolve themselves at once, before they went home.

"Get help, girl! If the daycloths burn, we'll wink out! It will take us too long to get there, and the elephants can't climb that."

"Yes, they can. Michael can show you how."

"Then we'll try it. Go!"


	26. Saving Time

**26. Saving Time.**

Melicent flew towards the village, but word had apparently spread already. Everyone seemed to be running up the hill - but it was the defenders, with pitchforks and hoes, shovels and poles, arrows and bows!

"Melicent!"

It was Wendy, with Jane, waving to her to fly with them. She joined them, and posed her questions.

"Why aren't you lot bringing water, or buckets? And why isn't everybody flying?"

"We have to fight off the pirates to get to the fire, and then we can stamp it out. They're well-armed, and not about to let us get close, from the ground or the air. As for flying, most of the townspeople would rather have their daily sip o'ale at the pub, even if they have to walk there. So they can't normally fly."

"But we have fairy dust."

"I used it; the Lost Boys are flying. If there's any way to sneak past the pirates and put out the fire, they'll find it, but Tink came to warn Peter that they have archers - very good ones, too. Approaching from the air is dangerous."

"Michael is leading the crusaders up the cavern. They'll come as fast as they can."

"Wonderful!"

"Can't the fairies get past the archers? They're so small."

"Archers, perhaps, but not past men with flaming torches. Their wings would burn up instantly."

"So what can we do?"

"Believe and try, Melicent. All we can do is fight like good Englishmen, and push them back into the sea."

-o-

The battle was at a standstill. So far, the fire had only burned some of the empty hayracks where the daycloths were usually hung out to dry. No cloths had been damaged yet, as far as they could tell. The fairies had help from Neverbirds, pecking and clawing at any pirates who tried advancing, but the threat of arrows and flames hung over them; the pirates were slowly nearing the active drying racks, where many cloths were out. They had already intruded at the home of the fairies, where all the daycloths were stored. They were carrying daycloths by the hundreds to the garden - for destruction.

On the plain below, the Indians were seen thundering towards the hill on horseback, with Tiger Lily in the lead; they had seen the fire as well. Michael and the crusaders were gone from the plain, and hopefully far up the cavern by now - but how long would it take them to get here?

Edward arrived from the ship; he reported the boys were hoisting the heavy cage off the hatch, and soon the prisoners would be free.

"Where is Peter?" he asked.

"In battle," said Melicent, "over there by the cliff. He's found Denny."

She dared not fly up to see, as that would only attract arrows.

But since you're readers, all I have to do is move something as magical as a daycloth. It's your Point of View. At the moment it's crouching with Melicent and Edward, but I'll just pick it up and safely move it to mid-air by the cliff, invisible to any archers, so we can see what Peter's up to. There's a hot wind on this side of the fire, but you'll be fine. Now! If you'll glance to your right, there's Peter and Denny, dueling with swords. See them alright? Good. Let's get closer.

Peter was a young and agile flyer, and a smaller target than his opponent. But his sword was much smaller, too, so he was standing closer to the clanging of the blades, and more in danger frrom a sudden thrust - or the deadly swing of a hook.

"Finally!" cackled Denny. "I can have it out with you, and there will be no more Peter Pan. We'll return with a fleet of pirates and Vikings. We'll conquer your silly Crusaders, and flatten the Indian village, and chase the gypsies into the sea and their children into slavery. This will be Heartless Island, and I will be captain!"

"The job is taken, Hook!" responded Peter. "I'm captain here, and it will always be Neverland. If we're lucky, the fire will burn _your_ daycloth. You do have one, don't you? Are you ready to wink out?"

"Be assured, brat, that I rescued my daycloth before the first blade of grass burned. Nothing will happen to me; I can wash a cloth once a week to save my life. But you're not so lucky, are you? Do these forgetful fairies even remember what name yours is hidden under? And the forgetful boy it keeps alive can't read to save his life! We'll keep the pesky fairies away - until all you hangers-on are gone up in smoke, and the fairies with you!"

"Not if we can push you back. And you might be the first one we push into the sea. Mind your footing, Hook. You're perilously close to the cliff."

"And you're perilously close to the end of my sword. Let me run you through, Peter. Why put it off? It will be such a pleasure after all this time. Then we can capture all your simpleton villagers and enslave them, too. Oh, not old Wendy and her kind; one of my men has a manaical desire to skewer the little boy and girl, and the rest will wink out, as they should have years ago. Are you getting tired yet, old friend? Come a little closer and hasten your end."

"You talk too much. Shut up and fight."

"What, no clever comeback? Did I say something to annoy you? Oh, good. Now, what would it be? Is it the girl? Oh, is she your girlfriend? Hah! That's too rich. Peter Pan in puppy love! How sweet. I'm sure she trusts you'll defend her. How surprised she'll look when Skrael runs her through."

"Don't even think about it, Hook!"

"Really? Oh, it must be such heartbreak to think of it. Hah! Peter Pan can't save his girlfriend!"

"SHUT UP!" yelled Peter, and lunged, but only to have Denny grab his neck in the crook of his hook, pulling him to the ground.

"Now, Peter, it ends!"

But Peter moved first, stepping off the cliff, pulling Denny. Weighed down with the pirate, Peter could only fall with him, towards the sea and rocks below. Denny's sword grew ever closer, while Peter's blade struggled to hold it away, and his other hand tugged desperately to free himself from the hook...

-o-

Melicent squinted. "I can't see Peter anymore. Where did he go? Oh, tell me he didn't wink out!"

"No, no," said Wendy, "they've fallen off the cliff. Mind you, he can still fly. Let's hope he got loose."

"MEL!"

She looked up. "Michael!"

Sure enough, the island's wandering warriors had arrived - and, more importantly, their animals. Rearing horses and biting camels are not to be argued with - and certainly not the pachyderms!

Riding one elephant, Michael shouted to Rupesh, "Make them squirt water on the fire!"

The elephant-master nodded, and took over as the beasts crested the hill, immediately ordering them into action. "Purujit! Mahabala! Wati, wati!" His charges obediently filled their trunks by the lake, and charged towards the flames, snorting water. It soaked many daycloths that might have burned, and extinguished a few smouldering fires. Under cover of the smoke , at great personal risk, the fairies darted in, dodging the flames, carrying away as many cloths as possible.

Tiger Lily and the Indians arrived to aid the Crusaders' archers. Arrows were flying everywhere now, and the villagers could only keep their heads down.

The fire was almost beaten. Still, for one hayrack with a small batch of daycloths, it appeared to be too late; they were surrounded by the flames, and too far from the elephants' squirt. The pirates fought off all attempts to get close enough.

Edward and the others stood watching, helpless to save them. "We could douse them from the air, if we only had some buckets, or anything to throw water with!"

Melicent remembered the bonfire. "Wendy, you had buckets on Pillow Hill. Are they... Where did she go? Wendy?

"Wendy, where are you?

"W E N D Y !"

-o-

Once the crusaders and their elephants made headway, the tide of battle was turned. The pirates were forced back until they reached the cliff, and followed their evil captain into the sea.

The _Town Crier_ reported the grim tally:

_Most of the daycloths were secured from  
the fire by the fairies. Two were slightly  
damaged, and with a little stitching and  
ironing will be fully restored momentarily,  
namely those of Edwin Farnum, crusader,  
and young Benjamin (Savvy Ben) Garnish._

_A week recently stored for Jonathan Hart  
was somewhat damaged. Since he is due  
to return soon, no doubt he will replace it._

_Sadly, seven daycloths in use were totally  
destroyed, and their personages winked out.  
These cannot be replaced by their donors,  
who no longer live outside the Neverland.  
Thus seven citizens have been lost, viz.:_

_- Wendy Darling._

_- Albert Whalen._

_- Eberhard (Bert) Fellowes._

_- Clarence Maxim._

_- Andy Baine._

_- Hamal Hamalian._

_- Maria Ciccone._

_Miss Darling was a prominent figure here,  
having been a local storyteller and mother  
since Lord-knows-how-long-ago, starting the  
family tradition which continues to this day._

_It is said the detestable Denny has been  
done in, finally, by Peter Pan. There have  
long been rumours that Denny might be the  
notorious Hook, surviving down to this day  
by means of a daycloth, put in use under an  
assumed name. From Denny's own words, the  
fairies believe he stole it before setting the fire,  
protecting himself from the sad fate his men  
callously doled out to his victims. If so, it has  
been lost in the sea with him._

Edward, Nibs, Tootles, Curly and the twins came by to sit up with Jane and the children and console them. They shared many hearty memories of life with Wendy, both in Neverland and London. Many, many other sombre faces passed through who owed some debt of gratitude to a family member.

Slightleigh, being Slightleigh, did not come, but was thoughtful enough to send hunters and cooks who tended to the mourners' needs for a week - and, while others sent flowers, he sent two sturdy, beautiful young oak trees.

At first, Michael seemed especially heartbroken and silent. After a while, he sat by himself, with tears in his eyes, and kept looking at the list in the Crier. Melicent and Jane comforted him; by evening, he seemed to have come to terms with the loss. He didn't want to keep the newspaper, but he didn't want it to end up in a grackle cage, either. He took it to the kitchen, crumpled it, threw it in the fireplace and watched it turn to ashes.

And oh yes, Peter Pan still lived. He was exhausted from the battle and fall, but not injured; a brief nap would restore him. He said he would personally fly Edward and the Darling children back to England that evening. They told him about Wendy and the others, and he cried himself to sleep.

-o-

Family and friends gathered on the ridge at sunset to remember Wendy. To an open spot near the two oaks where Margaret and her aviator husband were buried, Melicent bore one of Slightleigh's young oaks. Michael helped her place it in a hole, and Jane mounded the earth around it - watering it with more than a few of her tears.

Jane hugged Melicent and said her goodbyes. "Mel, I'm as long-ago a grandmother as you have now. I'll be dropping in on you when the time comes, unless Peter does it himself. Hope I'll do."

"Of course you'll do." Melicent handed Jane a folded paper. "Jane, please don't misunderstand this, but I wanted to give you this before I leave."

"What's this... oh, Melicent, no, not your citation! You keep that! In fact, you said you'd need this for proof when you tell Michael the tiger story."

"I thought about it, and I've decided Wendy was more right than she knew. What am I going to tell him, even now - that he did something that went wrong, and he could have died, but then I did something really stupid to try fixing it, and then both of us could have died? If we had, you lot would have been angry and hunted down Penelope, and killed her - and then the cub would have died without its mother. So we'd all be dead, and for what"  
"Melicent, that's all excellent thinking, but - you're trying too hard. The important thing is, you put your life on the line to save your brother. Sometimes, 'stupid' works. He deserves to know what you did!"

"Michael was just being a boy, and I was just being like a mother. But the cub and the tigress were doing those same things, weren't they? Tell them all thanks so much for making the citation. It meant a lot to me that day, and still does. But let's just forget the tigers. Alright?"

"Won't you even write it in the book, so he'll find out some day?"

"It'll be like it never happened. I told Peter the same thing."

Jane hugged her. "Alright, kiddo, I won't say a word. Gee whiz, you'd make one knockout of a real mother some day! Take care; see you in Number 14."

"Goodbye, Jane. See you in Neverland."


	27. Peter Pan In Kensington Gardens

**27. Peter Pan In Kensington Gardens.**

They descended from an overcast pre-dawn London sky and landed by the Albert Memorial - a gloomy sight in their gloomy mood. Melicent was again wearing her nice New Years Eve dinner dress and shiny shoes, and Michael his pajamas.

"I guess this is good-bye for now. Peter, I'm sorry about Wendy."

"Thanks, Melicent. I've been crying a lot since she winked out. I must not look very brave to the boys, crying like a silly little baby."

"Crying's okay when something like this happens. Admit it; Wendy's been your mother for a hundred years!"

"Yes, she has. And the boys will miss her too."

"Losing Wendy reminded me of my own mother dying a few months ago, which hurt so much. I've been trying to do a mum's things for Michael, and it makes me feel a little better. I don't want to not miss Mum, but I'd like to forget some of it."

"I know what you mean."

"Y'know, you never told me what your wonderful secret was."

"Sorry. Since the fire, it's just gone out of my head. There must have been something sad about it. Someday, maybe I'll forget Wendy too. And you."

"I hope not. I'll come back when you need me. In the meantime, I left my daycloth there. That means I can always be ten when I visit, if I want to. And all the time in between, if they need me, I'm there. I can tuck you in at night, and sweep, and chat."

"That would be nice. I'd like that."

"We're going to bring books next time, with lots of stories. Is there anything else I can do for you lot when I'm home? Except for tipping boy babies out of prams; that isn't allowed."

"Oh, we can always use more fairies, so tickle babies to make them laugh."

"Yes, I know about that from Wendy's book."

"And when you start to get too old, be a mother. Then your children can come to Neverland instead of you."

"That's a long time from now. Maybe yes, maybe no, Peter. No promises on that!"

"And...would you have a thimble for me?"

"A thimble?.. Oh, I know what you mean! It was in the book. And it's time you called it by its right name; Wendy got you all mixed up on that. A thimble is actually a kiss, and a kiss is a thimble. What you really want is a kiss."

"I want a kiss instead of a thimble?"

"Yes. And I probably have one lying around her someplace. Maybe two."

"Oh! So you have one with you?"

"Yes, if you say please. And then I have to think about it, to be sure I want to. And if I still want to, then I can give you a kiss."

"Sounds like a lot of work."

"I can't imagine what you do when I'm not around."

"Oh, I use an acorn."

"An acorn?"

"Yeah. It's only when I want to punch a tiny hole in something, and I don't want to prick my finger."

"Oh... you really do want a thimble. Oh."

"I thought you said it was a kiss."

"Well, I thought you still... never mind. No, I don't have a thimble, sorry. Maybe next time I can bring you one."

"Okay. So what's a kiss?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten!"

"I guess I did - if I ever knew what it was."

"Tsk. It's a wonder you can find your way home. Okay, then. I'll remind you." And she demonstrated what a kiss was like.

Peter reddened a bit, and appeared to be thinking it over for a moment, then shook his head.

"No. If I had ever had one of those, I'd remember it."

"You silly. I'll bet every mother you've had has given you lots of kisses."

"I don't know. How did it go again?"

"For that, you have to say please, so I can think about it."

"Okay - please?"

Melicent thought about it, or pretended to, and refreshed his memory one last time.

Peter practised kisses in mid-air, as though he was trying to memorise it. "That's... a kiss?"

"Right," she said. "If you want to try one, I won't mind."

"If you'll say please, so I can think about it."

"Oh. Well, please."

So he tried thinking about it, then kissed her. As amateurish as it was, Melicent was right; she didn't mind at all.

"Practise that with all the girls, now, Peter!"

"If you say so, although it seems such a bother. I can't wait to hear about you and Edward."

"Me and Edward?"

"What the shaman told you."

"The shaman said he'd walk with me. Big deal! So did the gypsy fortune teller, and she's supposed to be a fake. I'm sure I'll meet him again sometime, but walking together on the road of life? What was all that supposed... wait a minute. Are they trying to say he's going to _marry me_?"

"It was such a happy ending, don't you think?"

"No way, Peter! I'm not having a shaman pick a husband for me! And Edward's probably dating other girls already. He's certainly not about to date a 10-year-old. It's not going to happen!"

"Well, I'm happy not growing up. But if you must, maybe you can grow up faster than Edward does, and then you'll both be the same age some day. Can it work that way?"

"No, although... well, I'll keep the shaman in mind, and maybe in ten years or so, I'll think about it again. Take care, Peter."

"Take care, Melicent."

Melicent had hardly any chance to say good-bye to Edward who, like a good country-mouse tourist on his first trip to London, had been admiring the statuary in the dim light. She waved as he and Peter left. Fortune tellers aside, she really liked Edward, and hoped he didn't misunderstand all that thimbling he might have seen.

Apparently, it didn't bother him. "Happy New Year, Melicent! I'll be in touch. Hope to see you again, soon. Good bye, Michael."

Yes, Michael was still nearby, of course. "Bye, Peter, Edward. See you next time." He hadn't heard the conversation either, but he had been rolling his eyes and smirking while his sister and Peter thimbled.

They watched the two boys fly off towards Cornwall. To Melicent, the star second to the right would be just a little dimmer and colder without Wendy's bonfire.

Michael put on his best Melicent imitation. "Good bye, Peter! Oh, Peter, I'm Melicent, I love you! Marry me, Peter! kiss me!"

Melicent tsk'ed."Quiet, you little prat!"

"Kiss, kiss, kiss! I saw you and Peter. I bet you can't wait to tell Amelia about your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend. And how am I going to tell anybody about Peter Pan? They'll think I've gone nutty!"

"They'd be right. I still think you made him up, myself."

"Well, keep thinking that. We can tell Dad; I just know he'll understand. I'll show him the book, and Mum's handwriting is in there. He'll believe us. And Edward, when we see him again. But don't tell anyone else."

"I won't. Mel?"

"What?"

"If there really is a school for witches and wizards, when you go, can I come too?"

"Now, you know better than that. That's just a story."

"But we thought Neverland was just a story. So are you sure about the witch thing?"

He seemed so serious, Melicent actually paused to think about that, until she saw Michael was smirking again. "Okay, shortie. Stop that! We'd better get home, before somebody sees us." They took to the air.

"Mel, do you think we'll go back to Neverland soon?"

"When they need us. If they just need me, my daycloth's there, and they can take it out, and I'll be there and here. That should do them, for a while."

"Don't worry, sis. You shan't get lonely there. Before I left, I gave the fairies one of my weeks, too."


	28. Amy's Wedding

**28. Amy's Wedding.**

It wouldn't be dawn for a few hours. It had snowed lightly overnight, and the houses in the neighbourhood were greeting-card pretty. Number 14 loomed ahead, with two signs of welcome: a light by the street door, and another in the nursery window on the third floor.

Melicent was worried that Father didn't find her note, and hadn't read the book to understand why they were gone. "Dad must be missing us terribly. I hope he won't be angry."

Michael wasn't as worried. "Maybe your light's on 'cos he rented your room to somebody else."

"He did not!"

"If he booted you out, I hope he put your Playstation in my room."

"Not!"

The iron dog on the Third Floor windows was just as hard to turn as before, but Melicent finally managed to force it. They pushed the windows open, and a welcome blast of heat came out.

After they buttoned it all up again, Melicent checked her clock; it was 4.18 AM. She really didn't know what day it was for sure, or how much time had past in their absence. Was it one week, as she had counted, or only a few hours? Could it have been years? The room looked unchanged, so it hadn't been long.

_I'll have to write about all this in the Peter Pan book,_ she thought. _That will fill a lot of pages!_ She decided to enter a note about their return right off. She went to her homework table and turned on the gooseneck lamp -

- and found yet another note had been entered since they left. She called Michael over, picked up the book and read it to him:

_Until this day, I would not have believed such  
a place as Neverland existed. The evidence is  
before my eyes, and I must believe it, on the word  
of my wife and daughter. The security latches  
on the windows are locked from the outside,  
thirty feet above the ground! I fear for my two  
lovely children, and tearfully pray for their quick safe  
return. I will mark off on a calendar for each day  
they are gone. As disraught as I am, there is nothing  
more I can say or do. Entered in the Peter Pan book  
by_ _Alan M. Darling the 1st of Jan., 2003, 8.30 PM.  
Happy New Year, wherever you are, and  
come home for you Big Fat Round Birthday._

It was Michael who noticed the new wall calendar which had been underneath the book, and pointed it out to a teary Melicent. There, they saw the days X'ed out for a week. Today was apparently Wednesday, the 8th of January.

"Time stayed the same," said Melicent. "We were there a week, so we've been gone here a week. Oh, Dad must be heartbroken by now! He'll want to know we're home right off. Come on, Michael."

-o-

On New Year's Eve 2001, a year before, Alan and Andrea Darling had been present when a widower friend named Roger had got up his courage and proposed to Amy Temple at dinner. As requested, the Darlings had kept the secret of the happy engagement, especially not telling Melicent and Michael, who might blab it to a schoolmate. It had slipped Alan's mind to ever tell them his secret.

Amy often approached the Darlings with little questions about married life. In return, she and Roger had been strong support to Alan when Andrea died, and ever since. With her wedding less than two weeks away, Amy came to him with the last-minute jitters on New Year's Eve 2002. Alan was glad to reassure her that Roger had indeed been a babysitter for the Darling children many times, and of course for Roger's own motherless daughter; he knew all about diapers and teething and crumbspilling and pouts and broken vases. Men, indeed, could tend children competently.

Then, that very night, Alan's children disappeared out a window.

Book or not, leaves or not, for a week of restless nights Alan Darling had been tortured by the dread that in one year, he had lost not only his young wife but their two children as well.

Only 28 himself, Alan knew the family would get through all this somehow, but his spirit was wavering. By day, he could tell himself to believe in the book and try to trust the children to their fate until they could find their way home. In the dark of night, he feared he was a failure, and prayed for strength. As a poet once wrote in nearby Kensington Gardens,

_Calm, calm me more! nor let me die  
Before I have begun to live._

On Wednesday, 8 January 2003, at about 4.39 in the morning, he was viciously assaulted in his own bed by two very tight huggers, with unstoppable giggling and some well-practised thimbles ... er, kisses. Despair went away. Life, warmth, love and tears of happiness returned to Number 14.

-o-

A side note is called for. Those of you who are very attentive to detail may be asking yourselves why it took the little Darlings 21 minutes to read Father's note and run down one flight of stairs to the master bedroom. There was a reason, or several reasons. For that, let's backtrack to the third floor.

By 4.20, they had read the note, and decided to go. On the stairs, Melicent stopped, and begged a minute to dry her eyes and - er, powder her nose. It had been a long non-stop flight, after all. Michael concurred, and also spent a moment.

By 4.24, they were on the stairs again, and once again Melicent halted.

"Now what?" whispered Michael.

"I just had a horrible thought. We don't want anyone else to find out about Neverland."

"So?"

"We might let it slip accidently."

"How?"

"By forgetting ourselves and flying off the floor."

"Oh. No problem. I know a cure. Follow me."

So, there they are, scampering down all those steps in near-dark because they're burdened by the ability to fly. Pundits among you are asking (1) why not keep the ability and show Dad, (2) why do they have to lose the ability at this peculiar hour, and (3) at the very least, why didn't they save time by flying down the stairs? Well, I will not try to explain how a child's mind works in the middle of the night. If I could do that, we'd know why they sleepwalk, why they have nightmares, why babies need a bottle at oh-dark-thirty and a host of other things.

But, I'm digressing in the middle of a flashback.

Michael led Melicent quietly to the ground floor, and went to Father's desk in the library. He opened the bottom drawer on the right, felt around towards the back and brought out a small key.

"What's that going to do for us?"

"Watch."

So, at 4.26, Michael led his sister to Father's liquor cabinet, and unlocked it.

"Pick one, Mel. This stuff stops the fairy dust from working. Grog does it. I know that much."

"I don't think Dad has any grog in here."

"Pick one, already."

"And do what?"

"What're you gonna do, rub it on your head? Drink it, of course! Just a sip."

Melicent sighed, picked a bottle, unscrewed the stopper and sipped. "Ewww! That's awful!"

Michael had chosen a different one and sipped. "Mine's not bad. Kinda sweet."

"Really? Let me try it."

"Here. Swap."

Michael sipped the tiniest taste of the "ewww" one, an overrated import whiskey, and agreed with Melicent's rating So, at 4.30, the fairy dust began to - well, bite the dust, as they say! But flying abilities degrade slowly. Not knowing that, they continued sipping the sweet one several times, waiting for it to keep their feet firmly on the floor. How foolish! Fortunately, it was just harmless grenadine flavouring; it could have been much, much worse, no matter how innocent it tasted.

By 4.34, they tried flying, and could not. "Mischief managed!" said Melicent. They put everything back in place, and headed upstairs to Father. But Melicent stopped again.

"What now?" sighed Michael.

"He'll smell that awful stuff on our breath! We should rinse."

"Oh."

So, by 4.36, they had tiptoed all the way back upstairs to the third floor to use a mouthwash.

At 4.38, they headed down again. Melicent stopped again.

Michael rolled his eyes. "NOW what?"

"How did you know where Dad keeps that key?"

"Never mind! Let's go!"

And so, at 4.39, they... well, you know that part.

z

Considering what he had gone through for a week, Father was quite forgiving. He never asked why they hadn't told him about Neverland before gadding off into the night.

He could have asked intentionally silly questions, too, like why they hadn't dressed warmly, or why they didn't ring home when they arrived, or if Mr. and Mrs. Pan had given permission for their son to invite friends for a week.

But he had quickly scanned through the book as soon as he realised they were missing, and resolved these puzzles in his mind. He had sat down and studied all the writings in the book, including his late wife's pages and Melicent's notes. He had examined the Victorian-era handwriting of Wendy's invitation to fly, and compared it to the book's first chapters; he decided it was indeed a new note from someone who had died almost 60 years before.

He was the first man to ever write in the Peter Pan book, worried that it would be the closing chapter. Fortunately, he was wrong. There would always be more to add, and there would always be little girls to write it. One day, they would have to unlace it and add many more blank pages.

Of course, Father had many reasonable questions, but thought it best to set them aside for now. He gave the children time to take a refreshing nap, then bathe and dress in clean clothes and come downstairs to a grand feast of an afternoon dinner, when they could tell it all in their own words -  
followed by a freshly-baked big-fat-round-birthday cake, with candles that would have lit the walls except it was 3 in the afternoon.

Lastly, he added to their happy mood by handing them their invitations to Amy and Roger's Saturday wedding. Yes, Melicent was surprised she had been so wrong. The poor devil of a bridegroom wasn't Father! She felt just a little sympathy for her schoolmate Amelia - who happened to be Roger's daughter - but was very relieved that Amy wasn't going to rule the Darling roost.

Melicent thought she remembered the trip to Neverland very well, and related it all with Michael's help. In the end, Michael was one up on her; he had thought to bring new evidence. He produced a very wrinkled copy of the _Town Crier_. He had somehow hidden it from the grackle since their first day there. In the lower left corner was Melicent's 'sissy-song' .

Over time, Melicent would add it all to the Peter Pan book - the longest entry since Wendy's story.

But one little tidbit of information had escaped her: Peter's secret. She only found it out that night from Michael. They later agreed to spare Father; they didn't share it with him, or enter it in the book, for as long as he lived.


	29. Sands In An Hourglass

**29. Sands In An Hourglass.**

Father had washed and folded the children's laundry, and now Melicent - like a good substitute mother - brought Michael's clothes and bedsheets to his room. He was crawling into bed, after removing the two last overlooked toy soldiers from his pillow hill and tossing them across the room to his overflowing toybox, narrowly missing Melicent as she picked up his stockings.

"Be nice, now," she said, "Or I'll change my mind about the Playstation."

"What about it?"

"I was thinking about it. I have it all the time. From now on, you can go in my room on the weekends, without asking, and use it until dinner. Just remember: a knock on the door if it's closed, like the bathroom. Okay?"

"Extremely cool! Thanks!"

"And for that, you're going to carry your own laundry upstairs from now on, and put it away. I'll sort it out, but you lug it. Alright?"

"Yeah. Alright."

He watched her while she hung up his shirts, put away his other things in drawers, turned on his night light, turned off the ceiling light and finally tucked him in. Even at his age, he had come to realise she was doing things for him that a sister didn't have to do, and Father hadn't told her to do. Neverland had been quite a lesson in that respect.

"Sis? I'm sorry you didn't get to see Mum there."

"That's okay, shortie. You didn't have her for nearly as long as I did. I'm sorry she wasn't in Neverland."

He hesitated for a moment, then answered, "She was. I met her."

"Oh, Michael, don't start. If she were there, you would have told me."

"I tried to, at first, but you were all worked up about saving Peter. I knew you'd be mad about missing her. I did see her. I talked to her!"

"Not. Thanks for trying to cheer me up, but I don't believe you. She would have come looking for us."

"When Peter realised who we were, he remembered Mum had a daycloth. That was his secret - he was going to find her daycloth and bring it out so she could see us. She was the nurse! Then they brought her out for Edward, but then she couldn't get off the pirate ship. The pirates had her with all the prisoners The grackle knew right off who she was, and brought her the _Town Crier_; she had it on the ship. But then, after the fire, her name was on Nibs' list. She winked out, Mel."

"Michael, you're wrong. I looked at Nib's list; Wendy was the only Darling. There weren't any others."

"Yeah, but they all keep using their names from when they were kids there. Darling is _Dad's_ last name, not Mum's. She told me her name, and there it was in the newspaper: Andy Baine. That was Mum!"

Melicent felt a chill. A vivid mind-picture of her mother's gravestone came to her: _Andrea Baine Darling_. She had seen Mum's maiden name in the newspaper, yet thought nothing of it!

Indeed, that was the secret Peter had chosen to forget when it turned sad. Andy Baine _had_ created a daycloth when she was young, but then had never bothered to use it; no one in the family knew 'the nurse' was Andrea, only Peter and a few others. As she visited each year, her student nursing lessons were impressed on her daycloth. No one had needed a nurse in the past ten years, and never called it up. Then she was back - and as each person found out who the nurse was, they kept it secret until Andy could come to see her children. But then, the fire. One Neverlander mentioned it, in a way; Sleightleigh had sent the family _two_ memorial oaks - one for Wendy, and one for Andrea. Still, it had been left to Michael to disclose the secret, after Melicent had lost her mother _again._

"Michael, did she look like Mum?"

"I didn't recognise her right off, 'cos she was way younger. But, she knew both of us, and the song, and everything! It was Mum from her daycloth, all right. From the way she talked, nobody told her that she died back at home, so I didn't either."

"What did she say?"

"Oh, y'know...that she was so glad to finally see me here, and asked about you, and she thought I was getting very heavy - that sort of thing."

"And what did you tell her?"

"A lot of stuff. But I said Dad's fine, and you were here in Neverland too, and you're fine. I didn't tell her about you and the tiger."

"You could have. We were safe, with all the crusaders there."

"No, I mean you and Penelope the _first_ time. Tootles blabbed it to me just before we left. He gave me your citation thing, too, if you want it. You were so cool, sis! Anyhow, about Mum. She said she's lucky to have the nicest children she could have. So I thanked her, for... no, never mind, forget it. I wasn't going to tell you that part."

"Why not?"

"'Cos you won't believe me anyway, and besides, it was really dumb and soppy."

"So it was soppy. I'll believe you. Enough with secrets. Now, what did you thank her for?"

"I... oh, heck. I thanked her for giving me the best big sister in the world. Go on and laugh."

"Michael! I..."

Then Melicent couldn't resist, and teary-eyed, actually hugged her not-so-little-any-more brother like she hadn't since he was a baby. "Michael Alan Darling,_ shame_ on you for fibbing to your mother! I'm_ not_ the best big sister - but I'll try. And if I were there, I would have thanked her too, for a great, smart, _brave_ little brother. Then again, in all honesty, I also would have thanked her that you're not triplets."

Michael smiled. "G'night, Mel."

"G'night, shortie."


	30. Stars In The Night

**30. Stars In The Night.**

_And after they didn't fly any more, Melicent and Michael grew up._

_Michael married Bridget, a pretty red-haired girl from Tipperary. Bridget begat five little red-haired boys who were just like their father, so you know how they are, and sometimes I wish they would get lost._

_Melicent, of course, met Edward again in England. He is just as handsome as she said he was. Later they got married, and they lived in the big old Darling house at Number 14. Melicent begat Ellen, who was very pretty like her mother, and very, very smart, if you believe her Uncle Michael._

_But she wasn't all that smart, because one day Melicent began to teach Ellen to sing the song, and all summer long, Ellen wondered why she had to learn that silly song, because she had no little brother to sing it to._

_"But you might someday, Ellie," said Melicent, the mother._

_"No, I won't," said Ellen. "I've always been an only child, and always will be. I shan't ever have a little brother, ever. Never, never, ever."_

_You can guess what happened next._

_Entered in the Peter Pan book on Wednesday, 15 January 2025 by Ellen Darling Hest, age 9, Official Big Sister!_

_Oh, P.S. Teddy and Peter are in the little room, and they sleep all night now, but Wendy sleeps in my room, and she keeps whining and fussing until she wakes me up, and I have to put her in my lap and sing the song._

_Of the three of them, she's going to be the trouble one. I can tell._

-o-

**And now you've read the story, so it's time to say g'night,  
So now you'll put the book away and then you'll turn the light.  
And then you'll pull the covers up and listen in the dark,  
And then you'll dream a story, 'cos your soul still has the spark.**

**But if your next adventure has a need for you to fly,  
Remember that it all works best if you believe and try.  
You'll leave your little cavern on a journey ever grand -  
You'll fly above the rooftops and beyond to Neverland!**

**_Sands in an hourglass, stars in the night;  
Straight on til morning, second to the right._**

* * *

**Addendum  
**This being a full-service fanfic, here are the tunes for the songs. 

The simplest way for me to transcribe the music is to name the notes of the scale. The songs cover 1½ octaves; the lower octave is labled a through g, and the upper A through G.  
_  
Sands In An Hourglass_ is a slow lullaby. As the story says, it follows the tune of _Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,_ alias the_ A-B-C Song_. _Melicent's Song_ is a brisk allegro. _Everybody's Dreams_ is a slow nocturne, with longer pauses between lines.

**c c c cgg g g AA A A g**... ... .Time can last forever if your childhood does as well;  
**g f f f f e e** _shhh!_ **e d d dd c**...And if the child lives in you, _shhh!_ for you should never tell,  
**c g g gg ff f f e e e e d**... ... ...But read this under covers in a warm bed late at night,  
**c g g g g ff-f f e e ee d**... ... ...When no one hears you snicker-snick or sees your torch's light.

**g E D C B D C B A eg feg**...Just take the time and you can be in Never, forever!  
**g ED CB D C B A eg**... ... ...You're never ever lost for time in Never.  
**e f g AA AB g**... ... ... ... ... ...You're not there tho you really are;  
**g E D CB BC A**... ... ... ... ... It's not so very, very far,  
**e f g AA A B g f eg**... ... ... ...And just by flying to a star - how clever!

**CCCC C g ABC C g AA**... ...Everybody's dreams come together in the twilight,  
**BD D BBA BD D B B A g**...Chatting of adventures, sharing all we've seen and done,  
**CC CC C g A BC C g AA**... .Hearing other dreams tell of children, sun and dewdrops,  
**B ggA B D Bg g A B D C**... .And romantic tales of lovers who have lost and won.

**b c c c cgg g g A A A A g**... .But if your next adventure has a need for you to fly,  
**gff f f e e e e d dd d c**... ... ...Remember that it all works best if you believe and try.  
**c g g g g ff f f ee ee d**... ... ...You'll leave your little cavern on a journey ever grand -  
**c g g g g ff f fe e eed**... ... ... You'll fly above the rooftops and beyond to Neverland!  
**c c c gg A A A g**... ... ... ... ...Sands in an hourglass, stars in the night;  
**f f f ee dd d d c**... ... ... ... ... .Straight on til morning, second to the right.

Bridge (slowly, in harmony):  
1st woodwind: **CDC g A B E**. 2nd woodwind:**CDC e f g e**.

This is my longest fic attempt so far, and thanks to those who followed this mess all the way to the end, typos and all. Fanfic is just a writing exercise - very time-consuming, but a _lot_ of fun!


End file.
